Apples and Oranges
by silvergryphon06
Summary: Fate has a strange way of making itself known. A new psychic consultant is hired at the Santa Barbara Police Department and she is about to turn Detective Lassiter's carefully structured world upside down. Rated M for some language and later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **_**So, I've been on a seriously bad Psyche kick…and just fell in absolute, head over heels love with Lassie. Those eyes, man…*sigh*…anyway, I hope you will all read and review, I would love some feedback on this. And, as always, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except a gremlin. :)**

* * *

"You do realize that you've lost your ever-loving mind?"

Clear grey met sharp brown over the rim of a Washington Redskins mug. A dark eyebrow quirked before the mug tipped further up, the mocha within drained. It was set down with a sigh before slender fingers steepled, the swivel chair squeaking as its occupant's weight shifted forward.

"You're just figuring that out, Mac?"

Mac shook her head, the short brown bob of her hair swishing against her neck. The twist of her lips morphed into an exasperated sigh as the grey irises didn't waver, throwing up her hands.

"Fine. Fine, Felicity! Go! Go listen to what this woman has to say, _which_, I will point out, is going to be the exact same line as every other police department in the state has given you, and _which_ you will tactfully, politely, decline. You'll come back, open a bottle of merlot, bitch to me about the pomposity of law enforcement in general, and then finally, you'll collapse on the couch, let me put in the _Herculoids_, and we'll have a mind-numbing four hour marathon that ends at six in the morning with you dangling half off the couch and your foot tickling my face. By the way, you need to start wearing hose."

Felicity's lips twitched, but she hid her amusement fairly well as her friend went from finger pointing, to hand gestures, to violent shakes of her head, and back to finger pointing. Felicity unsteepled her own digits and burrowed them in the long dark ringlets of her hair as she propped her head against her palm. Her eyes narrowed, eyelashes fluttering exaggeratedly.

"I am very much wearing hose today, thank you, and I believe…that you are now done ranting?"

Mac scoffed, her pert nose wrinkling briefly before her eyes met those of her best friend of the last twenty years. The silent staring spoke volumes, and stretched out into several minutes, eventually broken by a frustrated breathe huffed from glossy pink lips.

"Really? You pulled out the vuju to tell me that?"

Felicity tried to hid her amusement by tipping her mug back against her lips, but Mac's ludicrously doubtful expression only served to make her snort hollowly into the empty cup. Then their lips were curving into grins, laughter beginning to escape in loud bursts of snickering, and finally giggles. When they had sobered somewhat, Mac tilted her head and leaned back in her chair, her arms folding.

"So you're really gonna go?"

Felicity nodded, grabbing the thin crème headband that matched her pearl-button blouse, smoothing back her untidy curls into some semblance of order. Mac rolled her eyes again and stood from the small, round kitchen table.

"Forget I asked. I'll start chilling a bottle for when you get home."

Felicity rose as well, tugging at the hem of her black skirt.

"I could accept this time, you know."

Mac glanced at her over her shoulder, skepticism written all over her pretty features.

"And frogs could grow wings and stop bumping their asses when they hop, but we don't see any feathers floating on lily pads, do we?"

Her friend snorted again as she padded towards the back door, grabbing her small shoulder bag, keys and wiggling her feet into the low heels she'd borrowed from Mac. Wincing as her toes pinched together painfully in the shoes, Felicity turned back to her best friend and roommate, her hand on the doorknob.

"You know you're a peach right?"

"Yeah, yeah, you just love me for my body."

"It's one of the best pillows I've ever slept on."

She ducked out of the door before the bunch of grapes her friend had been munching on ruined her outfit.

* * *

Felicity politely inquired to the Sergeant at the desk on where she could find Chief Vick's office. He was a slightly older man, balding and possessing an impressive paunch. He rose from behind the desk with a genial smile.

"I'll show you to her, sweetheart. She expectin' you?"

She nodded with a pleasant smile.

"Yes, sir, Sergeant, I have an appointment."

"Ah," he didn't say much else as he led her through the bullpen of the station, other than to ask, "If you don't mind me askin', what accent is that?"

She chuckled softly, her blazer hanging over her arm as she followed him.

"Ever hear of a little town called Charleston?"

His thick brows furrowed where they squatted above a ruddy face and tiny brown eyes.

"Oh yeah, some old place down in Georgia, right?"

She smiled sardonically and shrugged.

"I suppose that's close enough."

They reached the door and he gestured. She thanked him with another smile and a nod before knocking on the door firmly. An affirmative greeted her through the solid wood and she opened it to step through. A woman sat behind a large desk, her hand busily moving as a man with closely cropped hair sat in the chair across from her, one hand braced against his cheek, index finger deepening the craggy wrinkles of his face. Neither of them looked up until Felicity cleared her throat. There was a flash of sharp, light eyes and a cordial smile as the Chief stood and offered her hand over the desk.

"Ms. Sawyer?"

"Chief Vicks, a pleasure," she answered, taking the other woman's hand in a firm handshake.

The impression she received from the brief contact was positive, and surprisingly maternal. A vision of an energetic little girl with blonde hair and a soft purple flower raced past her mind's eye, along with a solid looking man who was smiling tenderly. It was followed by a gun and the scent of oil and leather. Felicity clasped her hands in front of in order to resist the urge to rub the strong odors from her nose.

"Thank you for coming. This is Mr. Spencer, our Consultant Advisor."

Felicity gave him the same warmly polite smile, taking his hand as firmly as she had the Chief's. Flashes of a young man with brown hair and a mischievous, boyish grin filled her vision, along with an attractive blonde woman with a fierce intelligence that was a little intimidating. Then it was the same bullpen that she had just crossed, only clearly in a different era. The smell of cars, water, and more gun oil was hot on its heels. Oh, she really was going to need to spend a lot of time in her bathtub with her scented candles tonight.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Spencer."

"Likewise, Ms. Sawyer."

Then the Chief gestured behind Felicity to the only other free chair in the office. Felicity accepted the offer gratefully, Mac's heels already killing her. Holding her bag in her lap, she folded her fingers together demurely, leaning back comfortably. She glanced between them, noting the small twitch of Spencer's eyebrow towards Vick. Tucking her legs to the side in just the way her grandmother had drilled into her, Felicity lifted her chin a little.

"Now, how can I be of service to you, Chief?"

The Chief laced her fingers on the desk, leaning forward with a probing look.

"Ms. Sawyer, as I'm certain you read in our correspondence, based on our department's remarkable rise in solved cases, we have been…encouraged, to expand our pool of consultants."

The Chief glanced briefly down at a file that was currently open on her desk, touching on the papers that it contained.

"I've looked over your record, Ms. Sawyer, and I'll admit that it's quite impressive. Over thirty cases solved based almost exclusively on information that you provided. Several police chiefs that I've talked to, including the Chiefs in San Francisco and Los Angeles, have spoken very highly of you. Frankly, I'm at a loss as to why you haven't started offering your services professionally."

Felicity bit back the sigh, and the snarky comment, that wanted to escape past her lips. It was a simple answer really; because every time she provided help, she was brushed off like Velma from Scooby Doo. Yes, they all had something warm and fuzzy, glowing even, to say about her to the news, to other departments, but she would still get looks when she walked into a precinct with what she'd seen.

Seeing no point in dancing around the issue, Felicity tilted her head, her pleasant smile fading into a brisk frown.

"Chief, if you walked into this precinct every day and gave your people orders that you knew to be the right call, and they either ignored you or outright laughed, how much longer would you do it before you lost your temper or simply stopped altogether?"

Vick blinked, taken aback by Felicity's bluntness. But she was a cop, after all, and recovered very quickly.

"I—I can see your point, Ms. Sawyer. Is that why you haven't attempted to assist in another case for the last two years?"

"Yes. I've had some calls asking for assistance in that time, but I've turned them down."

Spencer also leaned forward, his forearms coming to rest on his thighs as he regarded her with a calculating look in his bright blue eyes.

"Then why did you agree to meet with us if you have every intention of turning us down?"

Her gaze cut across to him with a crooked smile. A straight to the point man, she could get along with.

"Have you ever been to the Southeast, Mr. Spencer?"

His brows furrowed for a moment, but he shook his head slightly.

"Can't say I have, Ms. Sawyer."

She chuckled.

"Then let's just say that politeness is a requirement more so than a life choice."

He flashed her a grin in return.

"Fair enough."

Chief Vick closed the file and then raised her eyes again to meet Felicity's.

"Then I believe that we're done here."

"I suppose we are," she replied, standing and shaking both their hands again. She was certainly looking forward to that bath.

Vick led her to the closed door of her office and Spencer opened it for both of them. Felicity was exchanging a few more pleasant words with them, her back to the scattered desks. She managed to keep a grimace off her features as the edges of the pumps dug into the tender flesh of her feet. She said her goodbyes and turned towards a blissfully quiet night.

Fate has a very funny way about it. Many people will tell you that it has the timing of an elderly man rocking forward at just the moment that the cat's tail flicks beneath the chair. Others will say that it's like getting punched in the stomach by the realization that your life is going to change forever and that it's for the best. At that moment, as Felicity's ankle twisted painfully and made her lurch forward into something solid, and remarkably warm, she would have just probably shot Fate if she'd known that ballsy bastard had had a hand in what was about to happen.

Hot liquid was scalding her chest and arms, making her hiss in a pained breath with a colorful curse. A louder one echoed her own somewhere over her head.

She looked up and was immediately struck by the brightest, bluest, hardest eyes she'd ever seen. Thick salt-and-pepper hair curled just above a ferociously starched collar, and she noted a crooked nose that was set above full lips that were currently pulled back in a snarl. If looks could kill, she thought distractedly.

"Where the hell were you going?"

"Sorry, sorry, Detective," she murmured, her senses in overdrive as she steadied herself against the convenient column to her right. A whirlwind was happening around them, one only she could feel, and the force of it was enough to almost knock her off her feet. Oh, Christ, that only meant...

The dark slashes above his eyes furrowed together as he grabbed a stack of papers off the desk at his hip, setting down his mug and wiping frantically at the stain that was swiftly forming.

"Do I know you?"

She ignored the question, feeling like her eyes were about to pop right out of her skull, the energy coming off him in waves almost beyond belief. Her legs felt like jello and she lifted a hand to her forehead in a pitiful attempt to stave off the massive headache that was threatening to beat her senseless.

Chief Vick was suddenly at her elbow.

"Ms. Sawyer, are you alright?"

Not trusting her voice just then, she nodded, closing her eyes a moment. When she opened them again, she managed to smile weakly.

"Yes...yes, Chief, I'm alright, thank you for asking."

The detective was still grumbling under his breath as Felicity pushed off from the wall. Chief Vick cleared her throat loudly, drawing angry blue eyes towards her. She gave them a warning glance.

"Detective, this is Ms. Felicity Sawyer. Ms. Sawyer, thi-"

"Detective Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of this department, rank Captain. On the force ten years, divorced, partner of Detective Juliet O'Hara. Hates squirrels, has a mind-boggling fear of snow globes, is a Civil War enthusiast, a stickler for rules, prefers to let his gun do more talking than he does...and he's allergic to mint."

The words poured out of her mouth without her having much control over them, her voice sounding far away, and tired. Noting the dead, awkward silence around her, Felicity straightened as a flush crept into her cheeks.

"Um, sorry, again, I can't always help it when I get...jarred like that. Sometimes what I see just gets...um, startled, from me."

It was the best explanation she had, but from the looks she was getting, she really just wanted to melt into the wall. Why couldn't she have inherited that kind of abilityinstead?

Thankfully, the Chief came to her rescue, glancing to Detective Lassiter.

"Ms. Sawyer is a clairvoyant, Detective, she recieves visions through touch."

Lassiter's sneer only deepened as he rolled his eyes, still wiping at his shirt.

"Oh, God, that's all we need, another charlatan like Spencer prancing around the precinct."

With her nerves more than already frayed by the psychic tornado that had just torn through her like a frieght train, Felicity was feeling less than tact, or patient, at that moment. Her back went ramrod straight, her hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes flashed like a summer storm.

"You took the Chief here to the hospital to have her daughter, Isis, when you went into labor on the way to light weapon's training. You have a sword hanging on the wall in your living room, directly across the way from your television, that has a bronze plaque with your name on it and that it is extremely important to you. You shot a giant Donut humanoid statue three times before it landed on a bright blue Echo in a very misguided attempt to protect three other individuals that you consider to be friends, and if that isn't enough, you recently broke off some kind of relationship with a woman who was in prison for a crime you never believed she commited."

Something behind his eyes shuttered closed at that moment, and Felicity knew right then that she'd made a critical mistake with this man. Whether she genuinely had an ability or not was now moot, because she had brought up information that was not for anyone's ears, especially not his. It was the equivalent of raking sand through a bloody gash in your arm and Felicity almost apologized for it. Almost.

"_That _is information that you could have dug up on your own with enough time and patience," he growled, his voice low as he took a step towards her, but she wasn't going to back down now.

"What reason would I have, Detective?" she shot back, tilting her head back to keep eye contact.

"Oh, I don't know, why don't we list them? To make an impression, get hired on to work with one of the most prestigious departments with one of the most keen detectives on the force, to make anyone believe that those cockamamie powers like Spenser claims are real for money, fame. Maybe you've just been stalking me for God knows how long, maybe in some misguided attempt to get a date?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits, the venomous sarcasm in his tone making her feel like a cat with her hackles raised, but before she could give the scathing retort that was burning the tip of her tongue, the Chief spoke up.

"Detective," her voice rang out with an authoritative crack, "that's enough."

Felicity drew in a deep breath, choosing to ignore the urge to snarl. Instead, she exhaled calmly and turned serene grey eyes to Spenser and Chief Vick. God, but she wished she could just bite right through her tongue so she didn't have to say this.

"Chief, if that position is still available to me, it would be my pleasure to accept."

* * *

When she came back to the house that afternoon, Mac was already in her deep purple pajamas, sprawled across the couch with a huge bowl of dry cereal and a box of tissues near at hand. Felicity's mood lifted considerably.

"Lifetime movies again? You have got to get a man, doll face," she quipped, tugging off her blazer and kicking off those blasted shoes with a happy groan.

"Yeah, all tear jer-what the hell happened to your blouse?"

Felicity hummed out a questioning sound as she strode down the hall towards her room and Mac repeated the inquiry, louder so that she could be heard. Felicity carefully hung up her jacket, then started to unbutton her shirt.

"Come in here while I change," she called out and heard her friend's heavy footfalls, followed by a soft creak as she leaned against the doorjam.

"Was it as bad as usual?"

"Worse, actually."

"Well, I can kind of see that, which, by the way, you haven't told me about?"

Felicity tugged open the top drawer of her dresser after tossing the blouse onto her bed. Pulling on a faded blue t-shirt, she shimmied out of her skirt and rolled down her hose to toss them in the waste basket near the doorway. She reached for a pair of sleep shorts and tied the string snuggly.

"A fella spilled coffee on me when I ran into him."

Mac's brows drew together suspiciously.

"What fella?"

Felicity looked up before running a hand through her dark locks with a heavy sigh.

"Fate."

Mac blinked.

"Fate?" she sucked in a breath, her brown eyes widening. "Wait, you're _not _telling me that you accepted-"

"Yes, yes I did," Felicity answered, cutting her off as she moved past Mac and back into the living room.

"Have you gone off the frickin' deep end?"

"Probably."

She plopped onto the couch and grabbed a hand full of cereal. Mac let out her own sigh as she sank into the cushion beside her roommate, one hand massaging her forehead. Finally, after several heartbeats she looked up, worry and resignation clear in her face.

"You're sure it's fate?"

Felicity tapped at her temple as she pressed the power button on the remote control, Gloop and Gleep chittering at Igoo in bright, neon sixties remastered color.

"It's the only damned thing that would hit a woman that hard and still have the thrice-damned balls to make a date with her as his alter ego, destiny."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I promise...even the gremlin agrees with me.**

* * *

"So what does Destiny look like?" Mac asked the next morning.

Felicity choked on her apple juice, coughing so hard that the shade of her cheeks nearly matched that of Mac's pjs. When she could breathe again, she asked hoarsely,

"What do you mean?"

Mac gave her a hard look, sliding the mass of scrambled eggs onto a small plate.

"I mean, what did Detective Destiny look like? You know, the one that ruined that gorgeous blouse I bought you for your birthday?"

Still trying to catch her breath, Felicity slowly sipped at her juice again, leaning against the counter.

"Tall, dark hair with some grey, crooked nose…oh, and these pale blue eyes, um, baby blue, I think. Kinda like looking into two chips of ice though."

Mac shrugged, her lips curving into a sly smirk.

"Doesn't sound terribly unattractive."

Felicity snorted as she speared fluffy yellow goodness with her fork. She took a bite and held a finger up with a low hum of happiness.

"No, trust me…any physically redeeming attributes are immediately negated by a personality that is more than a little prickly."

Her friend's brows rose.

"Jackass?"

Felicity made a dramatic gesture with her hand , holding it high over her head in a sweeping arc.

"Of monumental proportions."

"Aaaand you're going to work with him?"

The curly-haired brunette shook her head.

"Not just him, the entire precinct will benefit from my presence, thank you."

"Now who's the ass?"

Felicity's glare was answer enough, making Mac chuckle as she sat down to enjoy her breakfast, opting for water instead of juice. Grey eyes lit up as she was struck with a thought.

"By the way, doll, can I borrow a different pair of shoes? Those bastards over there are murder."

She shot a different glare, one intended to melt steel, at the offending articles of foot wear in question, but they remained indifferent to her ire. Mac pointed towards her room on the opposite side of Felicity's.

"Help yourself, love."

Felicity planted a kiss against her friend's hair as she passed.

"You're an angel, Mac, an absolute angel."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me that after you try them all on in the next week and still have blisters. Why can't you just buy a pair of your own?"

At Felicity's incredulous glance, Mac threw her hands up.

"Alright, stupid question, I admit, I know better. Sorry I asked."

Felicity was already smoothing back her hair with another headband by the time the admission reached her ears, tugging on the hem of the blazer she'd chosen that morning. She checked herself over in the mirror once more, adding just a touch of eyeshadow. There, that looked professional enough, she supposed. Giving herself a firm nod in the glass, she blew a kiss to her friend and walked out the door.

* * *

Thankfully, the shoes she'd chosen were amazingly comfortable, encouraging her to see heels in a somewhat more favorable light. Besides, they worked perfectly with the black business suit she'd chosen to wear on her first day. The nice Sergeant who'd helped her yesterday was back at the desk again this morning, whom she discovered, went by Carl, and was more than happy to show her to Mr. Spencer's desk. The man in question waved her over as he argued with someone over the phone. He hung up abruptly as she stood at a respectable distance. He gave her a friendly smile.

"Manners must be ingrained where you come from, Ms. Sawyer."

She returned the smile with a crooked one of her own.

"Felicity, sir, and you have no idea."

He waved his hand dismissively at her as he leaned back in his chair.

"Drop the 'sir', at least, Henry works. I'm your boss, but I'm not a hardass. At least, I doubt I'll have to be with you."

Feeling less timid since no one seemed to be mentioning the incident with the unpleasant Detective Lassiter the previous morning, Felicity tilted her head at him with a curious expression.

"But you _do_ have to be with your son? The other psychic in the department?"

His brows rose and Felicity chuckled softly at his questioning gaze.

"No psychic powers involved, Henry. I watch the news like everyone else and the family resemblance is unmistakable."

He nodded.

"Fair enough. And yes, occasionally, I have to be with Shawn. Now, about your first case-"

She held up a hand just as he put on his reading glasses, opening a manilla folder at the very top of the stack on his desk.

"If you don't mind, could I hold the entire stack, please?"

Shrugging, he obliged, closing the one in his hand and scooping up the mass of files before handing them to her as she stood by the desk. She bent slightly and accepted them, glancing around her with a small frown.

"Is...there a bench available somewhere?"

Henry's expression was quizzical, but he pointed just behind her and she murmured her thanks, turning on her heel and placing the files in a neat line across the flat wooden surface. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her fingertips to the first one. Her eyelashes fluttered as her new boss rose to stand behind her, looking on with no small amount of skepticism.

"Missing persons. Young woman, red hair, brown eyes, waitress, missing for two weeks, reported by her brother."

Henry crossed his arms with a small smile.

"And didn't even open the file."

Felicity ignored him for the moment, focusing on the flashes of beige painted tin and the nauseating smell of tar, mixed with salt. Then she opened the file, seeing the gently smiling face of a truly sweet-looking girl. The name printed in neat blocks just beneath the picture read _Ashley Thompson_. As Felicity gazed down at the woman who couldn't have been much older than herself, there was a flash blue plastic and heat, followed by a painful tightness around her neck. Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to her throat.

"Warehouse down at the wharf. Look for some blue industrial barrels...she'll be in one," she said huskily, tossing up barriers like mad in her mind to keep the connection from overwhelming her emotionally.

Henry nodded, calling over a uniformed officer, McNabb or something like that.

"And Henry?"

"Yeah, Felicity, what's up?"

She turned to look at him, unable to keep the sad tinge from reaching her voice.

"She was two months pregnant."

He gave her a really hard look this time and she nodded to him.

"It's alright, I'd be insulted if you didn't have the coroner check it out first."

One by one, she went through the files, relating what she saw when Henry was nearby, writing it down on a legal pad when he wasn't. The entire morning went by like this, officers scurrying around the bullpen as he fired off orders and sorted through the reports that were coming in. Felicity chided herself as she worked. How could she have accepted this position? It was only going to give her nightmares for the rest of her natural born days. Kids, pregnant women, fathers, old ladies...the list of the innocent was almost too much. And all of them had something to tell her...something she very likely wouldn't be able to do much about.

Oh, she could point the way to their killer, or killers, give their families a sense of closure. But what about the dad that had wanted to teach his toddler son to play football one day? The grandmother who never got around to writing her memoirs because her purse was tempting to a desperate teen who pushed her into oncoming traffic? What of the baby girl who would never be born because her dad was too high to realize the butcher knife in his hand and the blood cascading down his wife's abdomen?

There wasn't anything she could do to fulfill the dreams they had left undone, was there? And yet those unsatisfied desires would linger within her mind long after the cases were put to bed.

She almost jumped clear out of her skin when Henry touched her carefully on the shoulder.

"C'mon, kid, take a break. You gotta eat sometime."

She glanced down at the open file in her hand, her tone hesitant and somewhat distant.

"Yeah, I reckon."

He blinked in confusion.

"You reckon?"

The way he repeated the word, as if it tasted strange, made Felicity laughed tiredly.

"It's a word, I swear. Come down to my grandpa's farm, you'll hear it with some frequency."

He held up his hands before grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

"I'll take your word for it. C'mon, I'll buy you lunch."

She gave him her trademark crooked smile.

"Actually, if I could just have an apple and some kind of fruit juice, that's do me more good than anything else."

He squinted at her for a minute, then shrugged, his hand going into his pocket for his keys.

"Eh, well, I can do that, there's some vendors down the street. C'mon."

She pointed over her shoulder, setting down the file with her other hand.

"But there's fruit right here," she said with a frown, indicating the bowl on the snack counter.

He took her gently by the elbow.

"Trust me, you don't want anything they put over there unless it's coffee or chocolate. And you need the air, so let's go."

He was true to his word. They found a corner stall and Henry bought a small bag of brightly colored fruit. Then they stopped at another stand literally coated with the scent of grease and meat. He purchased a big, styrofoam plate filled with glistening dries and a thickly built burger.

Felicity made a wince, but sighed appreciatively as she bit into a large red apple, a bottle of orange juice in hand as they walked back to the station. When she looked over at him, he was watching her with a glimmer of amusement. She chewed and swallowed quickly, sensing his silent question.

"I don't rightly know why, but any time I make connections for an extended period of time, I get tired and eating an apple just after always makes me feel better, more energized," she explained.

Henry watched her closely for a minute as they walked into the precinct and moved back to his desk, a cheeseburger plate and soda in his hands. He sat down and Felicity pulled a swivel chair from a nearby desk so that she could sit across from him. His brows rose, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he opened his plate and inspected his burger.

"Is that what you call it? Making connections?"

Felicity nodded, taking another bite from her apple, relishing the cold, sweetly tart crunch on her tongue.

"Mmm-hmm. It's the only way I can explain it, I guess."

He glanced up at her as he started in on his lunch.

"Like a telephone line?"

"Something like that, yeah. But it's kind of one-sided. I get information, but I can't send it back."

Henry picked up a fry, but not before nearly drowning it in ketchup, which led to her making a disgusted face.

"What, don't like ketchup?"

"In moderate, sane doses, yes, but to _drown _the poor bastard just so you don't taste the salt and thus ignore the fact that it's just going to make your cholesterol level keep skyrocketing? Plain disgusting."

The fry paused before it got to his mouth, his expression making Felicity bite her lip to keep her chuckle from escaping. Instead, she tapped her elbow where he had guided her out of the station earlier.

"Clarvoyant, Henry. I can always get something if I come in contact with you."

"So you have to touch?" he inquired with a thoughtful stare.

She nodded.

"Yes, but, as you've seen, not always a person. I can touch anything, for the most part, and make some kind of connection."

Henry started to reply, but a sharp bark of laughter from behind interrupted him. They both turned to see Santa Barbara's head detective sitting at his desk with a mocking smile.

"Spenser, you're seriously going to swallow that?"

Felicity felt a vicious snark rise up in her throat like bile, but Henry cut her off at the pass.

"After the leads she's given today, Lassiter, yes, I believe that I can give her a little bit of credit."

"What leads? To Guster's tap dancing class, I hope," he added with a derisive laugh, "she could use someone to tell her how to watch where her feet are going."

She was moving before she could process the motion, apple tossed away, forgotten, and striding across to his desk. She slammed her palms down so hard on the surface that the tingle went clear up her forearms. Her accent had thickened, the lilting quality of her becoming an odd, clipped drawl.

"Alright, Detective, I _get _that I made an incredibly bad impression yesterday and that your socially crippling sense of paranoia has placed me firmly at the top of your shit list, at least until Shawn shows up. I can even live with the rattlesnake's bite sarcasm, mostly due to constant exposure from another source and because I was, in fact, very clumsy yesterday. But what I will _not _put up with is attacks on my character. If you want to have it out, I'm all for it, but trust me when I tell you that I'm going to mince words about as much as you do."

She could feel flashes of strong emotions as he braced his hands on his desk so that he could be eye level with her. The scent of gunpowder flooded her nostrils even as she sensed anger, which was directed at pretty much everything, including her, distrust, a tiny admittance that she had guts to go toe to toe with him at the back of his mind, and a spark of something else that was so fast she couldn't tell anything about it.

The energy was back, however, a puff of wind that tickled at the edge's of her mind, whispered in silken threads across her vision. The taste of cinnamon was a warm tingle on her tongue, far more pleasant than the murderous expression on Lassiter's face.

"Sawyer," he bit out, "I promise you, you two-bit fortune telling harpy, that _you_ don't want to tangle with me."

Lassiter's voice was a husky growl and her eyes narrowed.

"And I can promise _you_, you tin-starred John Wayne wannabe, that if you try to intimidate me again, I'll hex those Clark Gable ears of yours into something not even Dumbo could fly with."

She couldn't actually perform a hex, but why let him know that?

Something flickered in the pale blue depths of his eyes, another quick flash of that odd emotion she couldn't put her finger on. But then he jerked back, his spine straight as he snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and stomped away. Felicity let out the breath she'd been holding, pushing off the desk and turning to see Henry staring at her. She sighed and slumped into the chair she'd vacated, propping her elbow on his desk as her hand rubbed against her forehead.

"I apologize, Henry, that wasn't very professional of me."

He snorted, finishing the last fry with a quick bite.

"Please, Felicity, he had it coming and believe me, it's anything but professional around here."

That made her lips twitch and she glanced up at him through her fingers.

"From what I gather about Shawn, I can certainly see that."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a blur of blue skidded past her, the sound of his shoes squeaking on the floor loud enough to make her skin crawl.

"Dad, Dad! I've got a really quick favor to ask and-"

That's when hazel eyes fixed on her and Felicity met their assessing gaze with some amusement. She rose again and offered her hand.

"Shawn Spenser, I presume. I'm Felicity Sawyer."

He took her hand with a charismatic smile. His fingers were warm and she was immediately accosted with powerful emotions, many of them positive, aside from an almost overwhelming sense of narcissism. She could deal with that, though, as she felt his heart was a good one. Memories flashed, many of them childhood lessons with the man to her left. A smaller boy ran through her mind, intelligent and loyal to a fault. Their bond was thicker than blood and it reminded her of Mac so strongly that she had a sudden urge to just go home and hug her best friend tightly.

"Felicity, it _is _a pleasure," a smooth voice replied just to her right and she turned towards the handsome young man that she knew was the same boy that she'd just seen.

"Felicity, this is my assistant, Rosemary Alliewitz," Shawn interjected as Felicity shook the other man's hand.

"_That _is not my name, Shawn," he hissed to his friend before turning back to her with a smile that was actually far more charming than what Shawn had mustered, "I'm Burton Guster, but you can call me Gus."

Self-doubt rang through her like a disconcerted bell, a plague of fears and phobias that ranged from severe to just silly. Despite that, it was like shaking hands with the world's biggest teddy bear, one that desperately hoped to find the one thing that his friend always seemed to have and let slip through his fingers.

"Hello, Gus," she greeted him with a warm smile, letting go of his hand gently.

"Shawn, Felicity is our new psychic consultant. She'll be working with us from now on," Henry explained , standing with his hands in his pockets and a knowing smirk on his face.

Before Shawn could even respond to that, Lassiter's voice boomed across the station.

"Spencer! We got a body, let's go!"

Henry twisted his upper body around, raising his voice to be heard over the steady murmur of policemen and typing keys.

"Lassiter, take Felicity with you!"

You could have heard a water droplet hit the tile floor. Then the sharp clap of hard soled shoes was echoing as Lassiter bulled through the desks, blue eyes sparking with the angry intensity of a downed power line, right up until he stood nearly nose to nose with Henry.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Henry's expression never changed, though he rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Lassiter? Or should I run it by the Chief?"

Lassiter's lips twitched in an obvious attempt to keep back a snarl.

"Fine," he snapped, before pointing in Felicity's direction, pining her with a glare that was actually quite similiar to the one he'd worn yesterday, "but _you_ and Spencer stay the hell out of my way on this one. Do you read me?"

Felicity grabbed her jacket from off her chair, swinging it over her shoulder and walking purposefully towards the front exit, dark ringlets bouncing against her back. She could feel the gazes on her strut and allowed herself the smirk.

"Like a comic book, Detective, like a damned comic book."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **_**Here's the new chapter, loves. Please read, review, and of course, enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and the gremlin…well, you know the drill.**

* * *

Felicity was going to have to find out if Henry had any of the gifts professed by his son.

Sipping on her thankfully sweet mocha, she picked her way across the stagnant puddles of oil and old sea water that dotted the warehouse floor. Shawn and Gus had been more than happy to give her a lift in the car she'd seen in Lassiter's memories. She was going to ask about that incident one of these days, she suspected one hell of an awesome story.

As she neared the crime scene tape, she spotted Lassiter standing next to a very pretty blonde that she assumed to be Detective O'Hara.

"If you need a brown paper bag, Sawyer, Guster keeps spares in his pocket," the detective called out with a mocking smirk.

"I've seen dead bodies, Detective, though I'll be more than happy to lend you one of my _Care Bears_ DVD's, if you're needing a little comfort this evening. Might make for more interesting porn than what you've been watching," she shrugged lightly, ducking under the tape with a mild expression.

Hearing him sputter was a reward in and of itself. Felicity stepped towards the younger woman at Lassiter's side.

"Detective O'Hara," she greeted with a friendly smile, one that was returned.

"Ms. Sawyer, I've heard a lot about you."

Felicity snorted.

"If the source is who I think it is, please disregard it, then. And Felicity will work just fine."

O'Hara laughed quietly.

"Believe me, you develop a filter after a while. And you're welcome to call me Juliet."

Felicity nodded as Lassiter grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Shawn sidled up next to Juliet while Gus stepped close to her side. Felicity glanced at the barrel in front of them, the bright blue plastic scuffed and reeking. Her head tilted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shawn's fingers leap to his eyebrow.

"I'm sensing that she was a waitress and that she was…she was killed here."

Felicity lifted her eyes with a small smile to see Shawn take off like a shot towards the back of the warehouse. Juliet and Gus were hot on his heels and when she turned her attention back towards the barrel, she saw Lassiter shaking his head with his hands on his hips. She ignored him, grey eyes narrowing as she stepped closer. Setting down her travel cup on a nearby crate, she held out her hand towards the detective. His expression was derisive as he glanced down at her upturned palm.

"You need a hand to hold, Sawyer? Ask Guster over there."

The look she gave him could have frozen tap water.

"Gloves?" She asked, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.

Grumbling again, he reached down, tore off the gloves he had on and handed them to her. Felicity tugged the too large latex over her hands, crouching down next to the barrel.

"Hey, hey, what the hell are you doing, Sawyer, don't touch anything!"

Letting out an exasperated breath, Felicity looked up at him, waving her hands at him exaggeratedly.

"Clarvoyant, Detective. I have to touch in order to see anything, unlike Mr. Spencer."

"No, no way, you are _not _touching evidence, Sawyer, do you—"

Felicity controlled her urge to flip Lassiter off by slamming her palm into the barrel. The body hadn't been removed yet, so it thudded dully back against her hand and she fought back the instinctive need to jerk her palm back in revulsion. Dead or alive, that was a person in there who deserved to have their untimely death vindicated. Felicity spread her fingers wide across the scarred barrel. The connection was faint, but instantaneous, almost as if she had pressed her hand against the dead woman's.

_Pain. Fear. Blood seeping from bare feet on chilly, wet concrete. Running, no air. Black laughter and blind panic. Help me! My son! God, please save my son! Echoing screams._

"Oh, Ashley...I am so sorry," she murmured, her fingertips moving against the cold plastic.

"Well?" Lassiter asked impatiently, his arms folded across his lean chest.

Felicity stood, her eyes misty, the connection between her and the deceased reverberating straight to her heart, making her chest ache. Christ, people were just animals.

"She—she was strangled. You'll likely find probably prints on and around her neck, if any of the skin tissue is still intact. It didn't kill her, just knocked her unconscious. It—it w—was the—"

Felicity couldn't finish the sentence, turning around so that he couldn't see her hands shaking as she struggled to pull off the gloves. The motion was normal, soothing, and helped to steel her voice.

"Lye, he used lye to kill her and then to disposed of the remains. She...she was alive when he dumped her in the barrel and filled it with the powder." Felicity breathed in very deliberately through her nose. "There should be traces of it on the rim of the barrel that the water didn't reach."

She heard a hiss of breath, followed by a curse.

"Son of a bitch. Alright, you said he."

It wasn't a question and when she had taken another calming breath and balled up the gloves, she turned back to him, clear eyes steady.

"Yeah, that's my impression. Male, tall, slight build, shaggy blonde hair. If you can find me a sketch artist, I can give you a composite."

The skepticism was still lingering on his face, but it seemed that he had worked long enough with Shawn to at least give her information a shot.

"McNabb!" he barked, the tall dark-haired officer from this morning rushing over to him eagerly.

While Lassiter fired off orders, Felicity plucked up her mocha and headed over to Shawn and Gus, making herself gulp down the suddenly too sweet liquid. It coated her tongue and made the need to gag stronger, but she knew that she was going to need the caffeine later. Shawn was examining the layout of the warehouse, eyes squinting and his mouth moving as if he were having a silent conversation with someone.

Juliet excused herself as her name was called just when Felicity drew close.

"What'd you divine, Shawn?" Felicity asked softly and he whirled around with a grin.

"Thank you for using the right term, Felicity, it's wonderful to have someone that knows that without being asked. As for what the spirits tell me, the victim was killed here."

He pointed towards a back office tucked in a corner of the building and lifted a hand to his temple.

"They're saying that…it happened right…over there."

His body jerked towards the office, Felicity and Gus sharing a look before following. Shawn burst through the door, closing his eyes dramatically as his fingers hovered near his eyebrow.

"I sense a great struggle here," he declared, throwing his arms up and opening his eyes, "Wow, I wasn't kidding."

The entire office looked like an airplane had flown through it. Felicity stepped gingerly over shards of broken glass towards the overturned desk. Glancing around, she spotted a computer, one of those old, blocky white ones and moved to brush her fingertips against the monitor. Images, and the overpowering, burning stench of lye made her want to gag.

"Shawn's right," she said hoarsely, her fingers at her throat again, "This is where it started."

She turned around, noting that Shawn's eyes were flickering over a spot in the corner. She looked, seeing a large indention where something heavy used to stand. Turning, she also saw drag marks on the concrete just outside the office. Gus stepped beside her, his hand coming to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.

"It's alright, Felicity, Gus is here."

Slightly uncomfortable, Felicity gave him a small smile and eased out from under his touch towards the doorway.

"Detectives!" she called out before turning back to the psychic detective. Gus shot her a quick glance, then moved next to Shawn.

"Are you picking up any vibes about motive, Shawn?" he asked with a minute jerk of his head towards Felicity that she doubted he thought she could see.

Shawn's eyes were flickering again, shifting over everything that was present, from the papers strewn across the floor to the binders that lined the shelf just behind the desk.

"It was because she was pregnant," Felicity answered, both men whirling to her, their mouths hanging open.

"What, really?"

She nodded, her throat constricting again.

"With a son."

The two guys shared a glance.

"How can you possibly know that?" Gus asked and Felicity pointed towards Shawn with a bemused expression.

"Same way he does."

"What, by loo—"

A foot rammed down on Gus's when Felicity turned her attention towards the approaching footsteps. She missed the mumbled exchange between the two, except the very tail end when Gus squeaked. When she gave him a quizzical expression, they just shook their heads simultaneously. With a shrug, she shifted from the doorway, gesturing towards the desk as the detectives approached.

"Shawn and I believe this is where the struggle started."

Lassiter seemed about to say something, but when his eyes met hers, he just turned away to inspect the scene. It was a strange moment, and Felicity wondered if he had seen something, but dismissed it. He was probably just focusing on his job instead of giving her a hard time.

"O'Hara, look at this."

Reaching into his jacket for a pen, he leaned down and used it to gently lift a small pistol from the top drawer of the desk. Felicity tilted her head again, her brows drawing together before lifting with a grin.

"Sweet Jesus, is that a Beretta .22 Bobcat? Compact, rugged small frame, measures just 4.9 inches overall, weighs only 11.5 ounces, features a lightweight, alloy frame, blued steel slide, tip-up barrel, and... is that a single action?" She let out a low, appreciative whistle.

Everyone just stopped and looked at her. A flush started to creep up her neck and into her cheeks. She ducked her head, rubbing nervous fingers through her curls and wrapping the other around her middle.

"Kind of a...gun enthusiast...except the oil smell, I, um, can't stand that," she muttered before clearing her throat.

When she looked up again, her eyes met Lassiter's over the desk, a look in the blue depths that she couldn't identify. She starting to have a strong suspicion that if she could ever figure out how to accurately read those eyes...Mentally shaking the question off, she gestured to the gun.

"May I, uh, see that for a second?"

Whatever had been going on in those icy blues was quickly shuttered up again and he lay the gun on the table. She went to touch it, but he shook his head.

"Ah, ah, ah, I know the temptation, Sawyer, but please, gloves?"

She resisted the sudden urge to kick him in the shins at his tone and just nodded. A tech handed her another pair and she pulled them on quickly, her fingers itching to caress the cool metal of the Beretta. Oh, the feel of that gun kissing her palm was better than sex any day of the week. Trying to keep another grin from curving her lips, she opened a connection to the gun. Gunfire echoed in her ears, the scent of grass and wind tickling her nose. Her head snapped up, putting down the pistol reluctantly.

"This was shot at a firing range, but not here, at least, not recently. The person that fired it, however, is your guy. Trace the serial on this gun, you'll have your killer."

Lassiter pointed behind her.

"We'll see. Spencer, take Sawyer back to the precinct, find her a sketch artist."

Shawn held up his hands, index fingers up.

"Actually, Lassie, the three of us are heading to grab a pineapple and ham pizza-"

"That's just gross, Shawn," Gus interrupted, but Shawn ignored him.

"So we'll be unable to take Felicity back to the station until after we consume enough pieces of heaven that we can die happily and contentedly like curled up kittens in the sunshine. Gus," he gestured, holding out his arm, then the other for Juliet, who just rolled her eyes.

"Unless, of course, Felicity would like to join us," Gus added, his voice deepening and Felicity had to bite her cheek and turn her head, pretending to cough in order to keep from giggling.

"No, thanks, guys, I had lunch earlier. I appreciate it anyway."

Lassiter's lips tightened as O'Hara gave him an apologetic look over her shoulder as the three of them strode out of the small office, Gus with a forlorn expression. Felicity turned to the detective with a questioning glance. Rolling his eyes and clenching his fists in front of him, he stomped around the desk, gesturing with a jerky motion for Felicity to follow him. Snarling a series of further orders, Lassiter strode so fast that she had to nearly run to catch up. She'd be damned if she was going to ask him to slow up though.

They reached the car and Lassiter stormed around it to the driver's side. Felicity paused with her hands on the door handle, quirking a brow.

"I don't suppose you'll let me drive?"

He really did snarl then, wrenching open his door. Felicity chuckled dryly, pulling open her door and getting in. As soon as her butt hit leather, Lassiter turned to her, his finger already pointing at her nose.

"Look, rule number one, do not touch a single thing except your seat belt in this car. Rule number two, do not sing, hum, or mouth a single lyric of any tune or I will boot you out of this car, and rule number three, if-"

Felicity shoved his finger away from her nose with a swipe of her hand.

"_What _did I tell you about intimidating me?" She asked irritably.

That gave him pause, but only for a very brief moment, then a condescending grin started.

"C'mon, Sawyer, there's nobody here for you to impress, cut the crap. You've got as much psychic ability as a dead rat."

Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have even risked it. But he'd been pushing her buttons all day and, at that moment, it was too much to pass up.

Grabbing his surprisingly warm hand with hers, Felicity met startled blue eyes with her own determinedly. Admittedly, she'd skirted the truth with Henry. No, she couldn't project information, but there was one little other trick she could do. Unfortunately, it left her with a mother of a migraine that could usually only be cured with two straight days of sleep and large quantities of apple juice, but she was willing to put up with the side effects if only to shut this pompous ass's trap for a little while.

She could feel that same energy again, the soft indication of why she'd bothered to take the damned job. Felicity drew it to her, twining it with her own and thrusting it from her hand and into his. His hand warmed even further and she would bet fifty bucks that his palm was tingling nearly as bad as her own. Releasing him, she turned in her seat and buckled herself in.

"Take it as indicative of whatever you like. Now, if you don't mind," she tilted her head and glanced at him before fixing her gaze firmly forward, "I have an apple craving."

The rest of their ride back to the station was completely silent. Lassiter wouldn't even look at her and Felicity wondered if she'd made a bigger mistake than she'd anticipated. It wasn't like her to show off. While transferring energy was not her strongest skill, any psychic had the ability to a certain degree. It was part of what being a psychic meant.

She sighed, the first sound she'd made since they'd left the docks. Her head was already throbbing, but if she was exceptionally lucky, there'd be a bottle of apple juice in some vending machine, somewhere in the precinct. They pulled up in front of the station and Lassiter turned off the ignition. He paused as he placed his hand on the door handle, turning towards her and his lips parted. She watched him, brows raising expectantly, but he just shut his mouth again and got out of the car.

Felicity bit back the next sigh that tried to escape and just followed suit. He climbed the steps to the doors two at a time, and Felicity quickened her pace.

"Johansen!" Lassiter barked as soon as they entered the bullpen, and a short, curly-haired officer jumped to his feet from where he'd been leaning against a desk.

"Sir?"

"Find Sawyer a sketch artist, now! Bring him to the conference room."

Then he was striding away, leaving Felicity standing in the hallway with her hand up to ask where the conference room was. Dropping it to her hip and shaking her head, she politely asked a passing uniform for directions. By the time she sat down in one of the swivel chairs, the artist was in the doorway, knocking the glass lightly.

"Ms. Sawyer? I'm Charlie Keller."

She shook his hand, ignoring the flashes of a sweet faced woman with long blonde hair and the scent of charcoal. He had a pleasant face, wearing rimless glasses that made his brown eyes seem bigger. His dirty blonde hair was cropped short and she noted that his fingertips seemed stained as he placed his sketchbook and pencils on the large desk.

"Now, why don't you describe to me what you saw? I'll ask you questions as we go, so please don't be offended if I interrupt you."

It was something she could tell that he'd said many times, so she just smiled and nodded.

"Of course, Charlie. Well, the most distinctive feature I think was his mouth, he..."

The interview went fairly smoothly. Felicity only had to correct him a handful of times about some of his facial features, but she was really pleased with Charlie's work. She held up the sketch, tilting it to get gaze at it in a better light. The man was decently handsome, with slicked back hair and a straight, romanesque nose. His eyes were wide apart and an obviously light color, the line of his jaw clean and strong. His mouth was hard, almost abnormally thin, as if someone had just slashed a line across his face.

"That's exactly who I saw, Charlie, thank you."

She handed the sketch back to him and stretched as another officer took it to Lassiter. When Felicity stood and cracked her neck, O'Hara stopped by the doorway.

"Felicity, the Chief wants to speak with you."

She took a deep breath and then released it.

"Alright, I'm on the way."

* * *

By the time she got home that night, all she wanted to do was curl up with one of her Sinatra CD's playing very softly. Her head felt like it was going to just fall completely off. Thankfully, she'd had a steady supply of apple juice to make it through the rest of the afternoon, but once she'd placed the key in the lock of their house, it had slammed back into with the force of a sherman tank, making her headband feel like a vice clamping down just behind her ears.

"God, what a day," she muttered, kicking off her shoes and pulling down a brown bottle and a small glass tumbler.

The heat from the whiskey was a welcome sensation as she tossed it back, not even bothering to put the bottle back in the cabinet. The light was off beneath Mac's door, the house dark as she padded to her bedroom. Humming with relief, she slipped out of her work clothes and fell into bed, reaching over to fumble with the alarm. Her headache would at least be down to a dull roar by the morning.

The sleep of the exhausted crept over her, though it failed to keep her from dreaming, strangely the streaks of blue color the only comfort when the nightmares set in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The gremlin protests the repetitiveness of stating the obvious, but…I own nothing!**

* * *

Felicity had been right, her headache had toned down in intensity by the next morning, but it left a throbbing reminder every time she turned her head.

She'd barely had the strength to lift her arms to wash her hair in the shower, but she'd managed to pull it together after she'd mixed her mocha and apple juice in a desperate bid for relief. By the time she reached the precinct the pain was under control, for the most part. It was still bad enough that she forgoed a headband and left her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, opting instead for a comfortable, soft, lilac sun dress and low heels.

When she reached Henry's desk, he simply glanced at her and pointed at the chair she'd swiped yesterday. She sank into it gratefully; the blisters from wearing the unfamiliar pumps were a burning, stinging red, visible even through her hose. Resisting the urge to rub at them soothingly, she instead crossed her legs, in just the manner her grandmother would have hated, and propped her elbow on the desk.

"May I ask what the coroner said?"

Henry leaned back in his chair, his fingers lacing across his stomach.

"You may, and you were right. Ashley Thompson was almost two and a half months pregnant."

Felicity tilted her head at him.

"They were able to tell that even with the severity of the tissue damage?"

He nodded, pursing his lips.

"Yeah, yeah they could. They couldn't get much else, though, other than her system was clean of any narcotics or alcohol, and she'd been taking vitamins, so we can pretty well assume that she was at least aware of the pregnancy."

"Cause of death?"

"Well, she had abrasions around her neck, indicating that someone tried to strangle her, but, you were correct, again. Her throat was badly burned, as was her esophagus and her stomach. The lye killed her."

She shook her head sadly, then hissed in a breath between clenched teeth when the motion sent a bolt of pain right through her skull. Well, maybe she was just going to have to keep a bottle in hand for the rest of the day. She could live with that at this point. God, what was with her and her need to prove herself to that pompous Dirty Harry impersonator? Henry raised a brow at her and she tapped her forehead, very lightly, with a fingertip.

"I…overextended myself yesterday, I think. I get headaches when that happens."

"Witches tend to reap what they sow," a voice snapped behind her.

Turning her upper body around to avoid another flash of blinding pain, her eyes met Lassiter's over his desk, his lips twisted in a patronizing smirk. Before she could retort, she felt a hand on her arm and turned to look at Henry, who was shaking his head minutely.

"Let it go, Felicity. He's just going through the stages of giving you grief."

Intrigued and slightly amused, she cocked her head.

"What stage are we at?"

"Still stage one, denial. However, we're almost through that, so," he patted her arm and released her, "Chin up."

She nodded, her lips twitching. It felt good to banter when such a horrendous case was staring up at you from its manilla file.

"Right. Well, then, back to business. What do you need me to do?"

Slipping his reading glasses on, Henry's hand started to move in a scrawled, scratchy script across the legal pad he had close by.

"You're going out with Lassiter to question the brother, Garrett Thompson. O'Hara would normally go with him, but it's her day off, so try not to turn him into a drooling zombie before you get back."

Her smile faded, her headache giving a particularly painful throb and she dropped her head into her hand with a groan.

"I'm going to need _a lot_ of apple juice…"

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a couple of single dollar bills.

"I figured you would. Knock yourself out."

She took the money with a quiet chuckle. She wasn't about to turn down a juice gifter.

"Two days working with me and you already know me so well."

He shrugged, giving her a knowing look.

"Cop, remember?"

Felicity nodded and stood. She started towards the vending machines that she'd found near the interrogation room when a thought struck her, making her lips curve into a wicked grin. Hurrying, she fed the machine and grabbed two bottles of juice, stuffing them in her shoulder bag. Her heels clicking rapidly against the tile floor, she stopped near the doorway of the bullpen, searching and finding the Head Detective shrugging on his dark blue jacket.

Felicity lifted her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle.

"Lassie! Here, boy!"

He spun around with a murderous glare, blue eyes flickering to see who'd had dared, but Felicity breezed by him with a laugh. She was going to pay for that later, she knew. But that look was utterly worth it.

She crooked her finger at him as she went, heading for the car.

"Good boy."

Henry's laughter followed her out the door.

* * *

The neighborhood they drove into was really rather nice. Landscaped lawns and artificially green grass stretched out in abnormally straight lines. The houses were like multicolored matchboxes, structures from a bygone era, with their white trim and tiny front stoops. Pretty, but eerily monotone in its design.

The sunlight wasn't helping the pain in her head, but sipping the juice was. She reckoned it was as even a trade-off as she was going to get.

"This place is just creepy," Felicity muttered as they pulled into a sloping driveway, " It's like something out of that Stanford Wives movie or something."

"Did you divine that little tidbit?"

She sucked in a deep breath, nipping at her bottom lip to keep a snarl from escaping. The handle of the door was the innocent victim of a vicious wrenching before she slammed the whole thing shut with a loud bang. And this trip had started out so well too. Lassiter had been blessedly silent the entire ride, the fizzle of energy that usually accompanied him quiet for once. And then, as soon as she'd opened her mouth, it had flared along with his temper, engulfing her in its twisting negativity.

Well, she was _not _going to rise to the bait, instead looking at him calmly across the hood of the car, her arms folded.

"I can't divine anything, Detective. I believe I've explained my particular gift within earshot enough times for you to comprehend that fact."

"You probably did, but I saw no point in paying attention to a sharp-tongued gypsy witch with nothing better to do than plague me with nonsense leads and voodoo rituals." He wasn't even looking at her as he spoke, which only served to infuriate her further.

Then he just started to walk up the driveway. Felicity's calming breaths just stopped helping after that. Lips curling back, she strode up behind him, fists clenched at her sides.

"Alright, first off, none of those supposedly paranormal insults have anything to do with each other. Second, if the leads were absolute nonsense, you wouldn't even bother with them, though the difference between you paying attention and plain ignoring me is a very slim line. And finally, get some new material, because constantly picking on my ability has just made you sound like a manure-crusted, gun-shy jackass with a warped Napoleon complex stretched up."

Lassiter whirled around on her so fast, she almost ran into him as she stalked up in her fuming. He stuck his index finger at her nose again and she barely resisted the urge to bite him...hard.

"I am _not _gun-shy, Sawyer."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms again and giving him an incredulous look.

"But you'll admit to being a manure-crusted jackass with a warped Napoleon complex stretched up?"

He smirked at her then, holding his arms out and giving a mocking half bow.

"And now you understand my charm. Let's go."

Her mouth opened to counter, but he was already striding towards the front door. Felicity hurried to catch up, then damned near ran into him again when he held up his hand. Lassiter drew his glock and turned to give her a hard look at the exact same time her lips parted to snap at him.

"Stay behind me."

She started to protest, wanting to ask what was wrong, but then she saw the mahogany front door ajar. Stepping behind him, Felicity winced when he kicked open the door, rushing through. She would admit, however, that he was at least methodical in his recklessness, not even bothering to call in for back up as he swept through the first two rooms off the foyer. He looked at her again, pointing at the rug in front of the door.

"Stay here."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, ah, here. Do _not _move."

He emphasized the not moving command by thrusting his finger down at the welcome mat under her feet.

"Stay."

She did give in to snarling then, propping her hands on her hips crossly. How dare he tell her to stay like a blue tick hound that needed a leash? Well, better to make the best of it.

Glancing around, she silently admired the hallway, seeing as there wasn't much else she could do until Dirty Harry finished up. Although...

"Now there's a thought," she murmured, leaning over to run her fingertips over the wall.

It was like opening an overstuffed closet. Memories rushed around her minds eye, making her lightheaded. Her brows drew together as she focused on the recent. There was a strange, horrible smell emanating from the master bedroom upstairs. Then a sense of urgency crashed into her, powerful enough that her eyes snapped up, her voice lifting.

"Lassiter! Get over here!"

He poked his head out of a doorway to what she assumed lead to the kitchen before stepping into the hallway, gun still drawn.

"What, Sawyer? See something?"

She didn't answer, dashing up the staircase.

"Sawyer! I told you not to move from the damned door! Get back down here!"

Felicity ignored his blustering, darting down the hallway and towards the closed bedroom door. Skidding to a stop, she planted her palms against the door, the sense of urgency, and death, seeping through the painted door. Using her shirt as an improvised glove, she opened the door just as Lassiter stepped onto the landing.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sawyer?"

Again, she ignored him, moving into the bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes roved frantically, seeing a bed, a folding door closet, beige carpet and white curtains. It felt feminine and Felicity surmised that it must have been Ashley's. The decor was simple, with a large wooden dresser covered in picture frames. One frame, however, was conspicuously empty. Felicity put her hand against the door again, sensing Lassiter coming slowly up behind her as he checked the other rooms. Emotions that didn't belong to her rolled like the tide, making her feel sadness, fear, a burst of short, intense joy, and finally despair. An image of Ashley leapt in her mind, sitting at the edge of her bed, her cheeks flushed and stained with tears as she rubbed her still flat stomach with an expression devoid of hope.

It made Felicity's heart ache and she dropped her hand, feeling a prickling sensation in her own eyes. She finally turned around to see the detective glaring at her and she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I know...that was incredibly stupid, but I had to. I-I couldn't help it."

It sounded lame even as she said it and when his hard stare didn't alter, she knew he thought so too. Thankfully, he kept his derision to himself, checking the closet and under the bed before holstering his gun.

"Nothing, and it looks like her brother is long gone too. It's like he just walked out the door."

Something tickled at her mind as Felicity nodded absently. Humming under her breath, she glanced up.

"Mind if I take a look in Garrett's room?"

He pointed at her, his other hand on his hip.

"Fine, but do _not_ go anywhere else. Last thing I need is you running amok like Spencer."

Lifting her lip in an irritated sneer, she moved back into the hallway and to the open door on the left. It was a slightly smaller room, and covered in car posters. Clothes were strewn everywhere, the bed unmade, drawers pulled out, everything to indicate a messy bachelor not quite over the threshold of adulthood and yet...

That scent came back to her then, powerful enough to make her gag. Desperately, she covered her nose with her arm, her eyes watering. Where was it coming from?

"Detective?"

"Yeah?" he called, his footsteps coming up behind her.

Her eyebrows rose incredulously.

"Tell me you smell that."

He sniffed, his expression dubious.

"Smell what?"

Felicity gingerly stepped around the old laundry towards the closet, running the fingers of her free hand across the slats, her head cocking to the left, as if listening. Yes, it was coming from here. More images tumbled across her mind, but these were jumbled, nonsensical.

Pain stabbed into her eyes, almost knocking her off her feet and she snatched her hand back like she'd been burned. Long fingers were suddenly at her elbows, keeping her upright. She could smell cinnamon and something that resembled wood, which blessedly drowned out the awful stench. The searing pain faded as quickly as it had come, though her headache gave a dull reminder of its presence.

"You're not gonna faint on me, are ya, Sawyer?"

She shook her head, moving away from Lassiter to fumble in her shoulder bag for one of the thankfully still cold bottles. Cracking the top and taking a long swallow, she twisted the cap back on and tucked it away again.

"Whew, that's better," she lifted her gaze back up to him, somewhat rueful that she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

He gave her what she was going to dub the 'what the hell' look, to which she responded by crossing her arms again.

"I thought you didn't care to know what sharp-tongued gypsy witches had to say?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a growl before dropping his hand.

"Fine, Sawyer, what the hell is it?"

Felicity turned and, steeling herself, opened the closet wide. It was at that moment that she heard faint noises coming from downstairs. Spinning on her heel, she grabbed Lassiter by the sleeve and pulled him into the closet behind her.

"Sawyer, what the he-"

Letting him go she slid the doors closed and with the other hand, she held up her finger for silence.

"Shhh! Somebody's downstairs," she whispered, the light filtering through the slats enough that she could find Lassiter's face in the dimness.

The space was stuffed with clothing and things that Felicity was certain she didn't want to think about.

"And did you stop long enough to remember that I'm a cop and that I have a gun?" he asked in a low voice, slapping his hand against his holster.

Felicity blinked a second, then scowled as she tried to find a good angle to see the open doorway.

"No, I didn't, but now you've got the element of surprise," she replied, putting her palm down to indicate to him to lower his voice even more.

"I had that already, I just needed to keep still next to the door and wait," he shot back.

"Fine, it was a knee-jerk reaction. Now, hush, so I can hear."

"I _am _the detective here, so I should be the one listening," he argued and she rolled her eyes again, covering his mouth with her palm.

She leaned closer, so close that she could smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave, making sure that their eyes clearly met as she lowered her hand.

"Then _be _quiet," she hissed.

That was when she became uncomfortably aware that she'd just touched him in a very unprofessional manner. She started to move back and almost lost her balance again in the process. Her arms windmilled frantically as she braced for the impact. His hand wrapping around her wrist and jerking her towards him was her only saving grace. Felicity stumbled into him, molded to his lanky frame from chest to knee. Her cheeks were on fire and she didn't dare look up into those blue eyes she _knew _were staring down at the top of her head.

The energy that had been a pleasantly low hum around him ratcheted up in intensity, making goosebumps erupt across her skin. That weird sense of fate was back, reaffirming what she'd already suspected; she _had _to work in that department, at least until the bastard decided it was time for her to leave. The sudden notion occurred to her, then, as she struggled not to panic in the split second these ideas were crowding her thoughts, that destiny may very well have decided to keep her there.

Felicity started to raise her head, but caught sight of a flash of denim and plaid walking past the bedroom door through the slats. When she turned her face up to tell him, the words died in her throat at the piercing quality of his gaze. The grip of his fingers on her wrist changed, slackened, and she suddenly felt the warmth of his hand carefully placed on her waist. Felicity parted her lips, knowing she had to tell him something important, but what she kept getting from his touch made it difficult to speak.

He was angry, but she'd already discovered that it was only a surface emotion, one meant to disguise those he kept to himself. She could feel acute embarrassment at their predicament, mild irritation at how clumsy he considered her to be and her bullheadedness, confusion at why she didn't move immediately away from him. Of course, he didn't know that she _couldn't_. Because something curled underneath those emotions, like smoke wafting in the air, and it captured her attention, freezing her in place as she attempted to puzzle it out. It charged the energy around them in an unsettling way, making her skin prickle and her pulse to thrum strangely. Unable to tear her eyes from his, Felicity just swallowed hard and fought to keep it from carrying her away from the present.

"Sawyer?"

There was the exasperated tone she knew, albeit quieter than she was used to, and it's familiarity helped to ground her.

"I-I know who's, uh, in the house. It's, um, Spencer," she whispered and he barely nodded, lifting his hand from the curve of her midriff.

"Then, let's, uh, let's get out of this closet."

She nodded at his suggestion and eased back from him, trying not to make too much noise. His fingers left her wrist and he straightened his tie and jacket. Felicity smoothed her hair back, feeling agitated that she had to indulge in the illogical need to do so. Carefully, she slid open the door and poked her head out, detecting a murmur of voices down the hall. Lassiter slipped past her, not bothering to wait on her to catch up. Cursing him under her breath, Felicity hurried after him.

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?" he barked and Felicity couldn't help but grin as Shawn and Gus jumped, scampering behind the bed, Gus clutching his heart, and both of them letting out a girlish squeak.

"Lassie! What the hell, man, you almost scared the chocolate out of Gus!"

Lassiter's expression didn't change, but Shawn spotted Felicity hovering near the door.

"Felicity? Wow, Lassie, nice. You've gotta let me in on th-"

"Shawn!" Gus chided him, the two sharing a look.

Something seemed to come to Shawn then, because he suddenly put his finger to his eyebrow, eyes closing and the other hand, palm outward in the air.

"I am sensing that this was once Ashley's room. She's telling me that her brother is in trouble. He didn't leave the house willingly."

Lassiter spread his hands out and half-turned.

"Do you see any sign of a struggle here?"

Felicity stepped forward, jerking her thumb back towards Garrett's bedroom and speaking in a much calmer voice than she felt right then.

"The struggle was in her brother's room, Detective. I could only pick up flashes, but I could feel panic and fear. Doesn't it seem just a little staged to you that a young man with a steady job, taking care of his sister, would keep such a clean house and leave his bedroom such a mess?"

"Well, that depends entirely on-" Shawn started to answer, then winced as Gus's leg twitched next to him, "Yes, yes, Felicity, the spirits are telling me that you are correct."

Lassiter's gaze shifted from Shawn to her for a moment. Then with a grumbled curse, he snatched out his cellphone.

"Do _not _touch anything, Spencer, and _you_," he growled, pointing at Felicity, "do not move again, do you understand me?"

Not wanting to argue, she just nodded, though she gave him a glare to match the one he shot back at Shawn as he strode back down the hall.

"Bastard," she muttered, more than happy to revert to something more normal than the perplexing connection she'd just shared with the arrogant ass.

Shawn grinned at her.

"Truer words were never spoken."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Ok, we've been through this, so...own nothing, honest!**

_**A/N: **_**This chapter's a bit short, but I thought it was at a good place to end it. Anyhoo, ****I would love some feedback on this story, please! Read and enjoy! :)**

* * *

By the time the crime scene unit arrived at the house, Gus, Shawn, and Felicity had gathered in the dining room. Gus stood at her elbow as she crossed her arms over her stomach.

"You know, I could recommend several excellent—"

"Thank you, Gus, but that's not necessary," Felicity cut him off with a gentle smile as uniformed officers and crime scene techs milled around them.

She glanced around, catching sight of Lassiter across the in the living room. Her hands ran up her arms, trying not to touch her body against anything or anyone as she maneuvered across the hardwood floor.

"Has the crime scene unit found anything yet?" she asked, twisting her hands together as her senses jangled like loose coins.

"Not a damned thing relevant," the detective snapped, "No prints, no real indications of a struggle, nothing. And not surprisingly, Spencer's, and your, speculation turns out to be a wild goose chase." He clapped his hands twice and turned away from her, his voice rising. "Alright, people, we're pulling out of here! McNabb, track down Garrett Thompson, find out where he is and where he's been. Let's go."

Felicity caught his arm, then quickly released it when he scowled down at her.

"Look, Detective, I think I've given more than enough credible information for you to at least give me a chance here."

"Then give me something I can use. A location, a description, a motive, something plausible, and if you can't, then I'm going back to the station and you can either stay here or ride back with me," he said curtly.

Her lips thinned, but she stayed silent.

"That's what I thought. Now," he leaned closer to her and growled slowly, "let's go."

He slid on his sunglasses and strode towards the front door, leaving her with little choice other than to follow in his footsteps. Shawn and Gus stopped her.

"Hey, Flick, where you goin'?"

She did a double take at Shawn.

"Wow, I haven't been called that since grade school, and I'm heading back to the station with Detective Lassiter."

Shawn shook his head.

"Call him Lassie. If you get formal with him, it'll go straight to his head and you'll never be able to get anything done. It's like calling Rick Flair 'Richard' all the time. Then it just gets weird," he turned to Gus, his index finger rubbing at his lip, "I was going somewhere with that."

"And promptly lost it. Anyway, Felicity, you could get a ride with us."

A horn blared loudly in the driveway and Felicity held up her hand.

"Thanks, guys, but I'll just catch this one. See you later!"

She darted out before they could protest. She felt a little bad, but she suspected that Gus had a small crush on her and she really didn't want to do anything to encourage it. He was sweet, but she just couldn't see anything happening. It would have been like making out with an actual teddy bear and that seemed a little strange.

Felicity opened the door of the car and slid in, hissing when sun-heated leather burnt the back of her thighs. Lassiter gave her a look over the rim of his sunglasses.

"Problem?"

Felicity glared at him and snatched her seat belt.

"Other than scalded thighs? Not a damned problem in the world."

Was she imagining it or did his eyes flicker to the thighs in question before he turned on the ignition? Felicity dismissed the thought; that was just ridiculous...and shudder worthy.

They pulled out of the driveway and Felicity gingerly leaned her arm on the door, her hand cupping her forehead. Straightening long enough to tug the half empty bottle of juice out of the bag in her lap, she took a long pull. The sweet tartness was welcome on her tongue, soothing both the constant throb behind her eyes and her nerves. That is, until Lassiter spoke and almost scared her right out of her skin.

"Didn't you tell Henry that you always get some kind of connection or something when you touch somebody?"

She cleared her throat before replying.

"Or something, yes. There are very rare instances when I can't get anything at all."

"Like what?"

Felicity regarded him suspiciously.

"Since when do you care?"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Fine, forget I asked."

She sighed.

"Alright, I'm sorry. The few times I couldn't make a connection was when the item or person was either protected by energies I couldn't penetrate or if they had never been touched. Physical contact is a given in life, whether it's another human being, an animal, or an inanimate object. That contact leaves a mark, an energy impression, if you will."

His lips were twisting into that mockingly skeptical smile of his, so she elaborated.

"Look, if someone put your gun in a roomful of other guns and told you to go find it, could you do it?"

"Of course I could. You think I don't know my own gun?"

"No, I think you know your gun intimately...probably more intimately than is strictly necessary."

It was his turn to glare at her as they turned onto another street.

"Anyway, my point is that you know your gun like you know your car or your home or your own hand. It's left as much an impression on you as you have on it. Maybe more, since anytime I come in contact with you, I can barely get a sense of the cinnamon under all the gunpowder and gun oil."

He braked hard at the stop sign, actually turning in his seat to look at her.

"You sniffed me?" he asked incredulously.

Felicity reared back, offended.

"No! I can't help it if I connect with you and get scents! Not to mention you use enough cinnamon toothpaste to give people twenty feet away a craving for Big Red gum."

"Oh, and I suppose your hair naturally smells like apples?"

Her lips curved in a wicked grin before he even realized what he'd said.

"Well, I have a sixth sense that informs me of these things whether I want it to or not. What's your excuse?"

His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. He stared at her for several heartbeats, until the car behind them started honking impatiently and Lassiter leaned out the window to yell at the driver before taking off. They didn't say anything else for another ten miles. Then Felicity looked over at him.

"So why'd you wanna know?"

"I haven't got a damned clue," he shot back, thumping his palm against the steering wheel, "Just drop it, alright?"

"Fine, fine."

Felicity held up her hands in surrender, then folded them over her bag. By the time they had reached the station, she was more than ready to get the hell out of the car and somewhere that didn't have the atmosphere of death row. As soon as her feet touched asphalt, she felt relieved. Not bothering to wait on Lassiter, she strode into the bullpen, Henry already having spotted her and beckoning her over.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

When she walked through the kitchen door that evening, Felicity was still in a bad mood. By the time she left the station, there still weren't any leads on Garrett Thompson's whereabouts, nor on the man Charlie had sketched for her. The Chief had called both Shawn and herself into the office, but neither of them could give her anything. She'd finally just dismissed them and Shawn had dashed off to meet Juliet for a date. Felicity hadn't missed the gloomy look Lassiter had given him and O'Hara's empty desk.

As soon as he'd seen her looking at him, however, the expression in his eyes became shuttered and his head snapped down to inspect the files on his desk. All the same, she could read that look; loneliness had a soft edge to it that was just foreign on that hard-planed face.

Mac entering the kitchen snapped her from her thoughts.

"Hey, doll face, how was your day?"

Mac groaned, rolling her shoulders and dropping a stack of papers the height of a small dog.

"Don't ask, unless you want a patented rant. Those teenagers are murder."

Felicity glanced over the pile with a quirked brow.

"Y'know, I could make a corny reference to 'Holding Out for a Hero' and your scary fantasy about Superman showing up in the Clark Kent glasses and a sentence diagram in hand wandering into your classroom to correct your students and bend you over the de-"

"OK, you can stop right there. I do not need to be hot and bothered while I'm grading these or I might be too lenient."

Felicity snorted, pushing stray curls out of her eyes with one hand and propping her cheek in the other.

"Please, you _live _to fail these kids. Every blood red mark is a notch in your metaphorical ruler."

Mac's brown eyes were twinkling maliciously as she pointed towards her friend with said pen.

"And that, my ducky love, is an absolute truth."

"Have I ever spoken anything but?"

Mac winced and Felicity winked at her, then moved to the cabinet, pulling down two glasses.

"Why must you do that to me? You know it causes my soul great pain and distress."

"So does watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' movies with me, and I keep telling you, it toughens you up."

"How the hell does breaking into a dance number in any way toughen you up? That logic didn't make any sense when we were thirteen and it doesn't make sense now."

Felicity leaned over Mac's shoulder.

"Only because you won't let it, love."

"And why should I? Nothing's in it for me."

Felicity sat down with an incredulous look, sliding a glass of whiskey to her friend, sipping on her own tumbler.

"Nothing for you? How about every time we watch one of those beautiful films I buy you a box white chocolate truffles, a bottle of Jack, and I sit through three _Dragnet _episodes."

"Alright, alright, fair enough."

They fell silent for a bit, both just enjoying the companionable quiet as Mac started grading. After about fifteen minutes, Felicity held up her empty tumbler.

"So I shut myself in a closet with Detective Destiny this morning."

You could feel all the air in the room being sucked right out of it. She shifted her gaze towards Mac who was frozen, glass to her lips as brown eyes stared over the rim. Slowly, she lowered it before folding her hands on the table.

"You did what?"

Felicity bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"I said I-"

"I heard what you said, I wanna know what you did."

Felicity shrugged.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Are you sure you don't have a hearing problem?"

"Quite...well?"

"Well what?"

Mac tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

"Do you mean to tell me that you had a decently attractive man, after this three year dry spell, alone in a closet with you and you did nothing?"

Felicity blinked before tilting her head in mimicry of her friend.

"Huh...when you say it out loud, it does sound pretty silly."

"It's the reason I'm here."

"To point out when I'm being silly?"

"Nope, to point to your missed opportunities and promptly laugh at them."

"I don't hear any laughter."

"That's because I'm laughing on the inside as my outside is too outraged to express humor."

"Really?"

"Really."

The stared across the table at one another, seconds ticking by. Neither moved, barely breathed...and then Felicity's lips started to twitch in earnest, which turned out to be the catalyst for her friend's Chesire grin.

"So, _Godzilla _or two episodes of _The Munsters_?"

Mac's brow arched.

"Do you have to ask? _Godzilla, _every time."

And for a long time, Felicity put the entire incident from her mind.

* * *

It amazed her how in a short week, she'd eased into the rhythm of the department. Except for the occasional snark-filled exchange with Lassiter, her days were fairly quiet and she had plenty of work to do. Her workload was pretty heavy, many cases handed to her that Shawn either turned down or Henry didn't think his son could handle, though he'd never admit it. Unfortunately, the prolific amount of work also meant that they'd had few leads on the Thompson case. What bothered her more than anything was that no one had come to claim Ashley's body. As she sorted through a new pile of files, she felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced up to see Henry regarding her over his hands, which braced in front of him.

"Yes, Henry?"

He let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt, leaning back in his chair with a creak.

"What's eatin' ya, Flick?"

Her lips twitched.

"Seriously? Shawn's gotten to you too? He's got Buzz calling me that now."

Henry shrugged with a chuckle.

"It fits, kid. Now quit stalling and tell me what's on your mind."

Exhaling a heavy breath, she shifted in her chair and plopped the files in one of the basket's on his desk. She'd opted for a light blue headband to hold her curls in check, twisting the rest of them into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her collared shirt was a close match to her headband and her black slacks billowed around her ankles when she walked. Frankly, it was the main reason she'd bought them; she'd admit to not being above the easily amused.

"It's the Thompson case."

"Aw, c'mon, honey, you can't let it get to you. Look-"

He leaned forward again, looking into her grey eyes earnestly.

"You know as well as I do that people die, sometimes in horrible ways and in horrible circumstances. There is nothing you could have done to help her then, you're doing everything you can to help her now."

"Henry, I know you're right, it's just," she paused, dropping her gaze and running her fingers across her neck before she looked up again, "I keep thinking about her all alone down there, no one to give her or her baby a resting place," she drove her fingertip into a grey folder, "and that is what's bothering me."

Henry reached out and gave her hand a quick pat.

"If it stops bothering you, Flick, it's time to quit."

"Sawyer!"

Felicity turned around in the chair to see Lassiter and Juliet standing near the Chief's office. Juliet waved at her.

"We just got a call. It looks like we found Garrett Thompson."

Felicity was up like a shot.

"Where? When?"

Lassiter and Juliet looked at one another as she moved past them before rushing to catch up with her.

"Slow down, Sawyer, you're not going to want to bolt into this one."

That brought her up short, spinning on the stairs to look back at them. There was a quiet expression in Juliet's soft blue eyes, one that spoke volumes. She glanced over to Lassiter, who's mouth was set in a grim line. She understood without them saying a damned word and the knowledge settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. It didn't look like anyone was coming in to claim Ashley's body.

Then her jaw tightened before she whirled around and started off again.

"Allow me to disagree, Detective."

A hand on her sleeve made her instantly come back to a stop. She glanced up, her mouth open to argue, but the dead seriousness in the hard blue eyes looking down at her kept the words in her throat. Lassiter's grip was firm and his voice held an edge to it that she'd not heard before.

"For once, Sawyer, trust me, huh?"

She could see it in the touch of his hand. The harsh whine of the radio as the location of the body was radioed in, the trembling voice of the deputy who'd found it as he struggled to pull words over his suddenly clay tongue. She could see the unease in the detective like a prickling of goosebumps breaking across his skin.

And that fact along made all the color drain from her features.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I know you know, but the gremlin insisted I say it...**

* * *

"Still disagree, Sawyer?"

The crime scene was a boarded up church near the north end of town, towards Rocky Nook Park. It was an old structure, the bricks coated in a thick white plaster that was chipping in large chunks. The stones in the cemetery were old, the etchings faded and nearly completely illegible. Many of them had sunk into the ground, leaving them at crooked, odd angles.

Felicity ignored the question, stepping off the brick walkway that led to massive oak doors and towards the grave markers. She moved among the stones, her fingertips brushing their rough surfaces. The connections were faint, fluttering against the pads of her fingers with the gentleness of trapped moths. She could feel his gaze on her back as she slowly walked by them. Dust, earth, and the lingering scent of rain wafted past her, comforting in its naturalness, unsettling because she was aware of where she was. Memories of mourners in black, the sound of the chisel against hard granite as it carved the name came to her as if hearing it from a great distance.

"Sawyer?"

She still didn't respond, wandering towards the crime scene tape, every drag of her fingers pulling her to the massive tear in the earth that was surrounded by uniforms. When she started with more certain steps, she felt a hand on her arm. Felicity turned around with a scowl, but when her eyes met bright blue, she did indeed stop and he dropped his hand.

His expression was less harsh than she'd ever seen it and was enforced by the emotions she picked up as soon as he'd touched her. There had been protectiveness in the gesture and it puzzled her. The concern she'd felt from him, however, had the opposite effect, immediately putting her on edge, pricking her pride.

"Sawyer, _trust _me, you don't want to see this."

Bitterness had been churning in her gut for the last few days and when she saw the look on his face, it twined with a flash of anger she couldn't be entirely sure was her own. Granted, the fact that a woman who had been looking forward to raising the son she carried died without ever knowing him made her feel sick, and furious that nothing could justify that kind of loss of life. She'd seen more than he knew, and he wanted to keep her from this? It was infuriating and all she wanted to do was tear into him, her frustration and anger finally finding the release valve it needed.

And then, just as quickly, it dissipated, because she'd known he was being sincere. Any man that tried that hard to be Joe Friday and Matt Dillon couldn't be anything less than honest. The knowledge was like getting punched in the chest and her body just gave as all the air in her lungs left her. The acrimonious retort that had made it to the tip of her tongue dissolved, the proud set of her shoulders slumping a little. She looked down at the grass for a moment, then back up again.

"Lassiter, I know that if you're telling me it's bad, then, you're right, I don't want to see it…but I have to, just like you. It's my case as much as yours."

Lassiter's look was far more knowing than she was comfortable with, his gaze becoming the icy, hard stare that she'd come to see as his normal.

"Fine, but I hear one choking sound from you and you are out of here. Are we clear?"

"We're clear, Detective," she replied quietly and he gestured for her to go ahead of him.

She inhaled deeply and looked up at the clear sky, the sight and the haunting smell of a rain shower disconcerting in their juxtaposition. Turning her attention to the hole in the ground, Felicity crossed her arms and shifted her weight, trying to keep her balance on the loamy ground. It was a shallow grave, a decent size mound of dirt and clumps of grassy earth piled to her left, a shovel still sticking out of it, like the gravedigger had just stopped in the middle of his work.

Felicity fought to keep her expression neutral as she peered over the side of the narrow chasm.

"Sweet Mother Mary," she breathed.

The earth was soaked, the coppery stench of blood drifting upwards in sickening waves. She could make out what looked like fingers sticking out one particular clomp of earth, but she couldn't be sure other than the presence of what looked like keratin. Brown eyes stared out at nothing, reminding her strongly of the fish wrapped in plastic at the supermarket; God, she was never going to be able to go by the meat department again. It was his face, however, that told her who the victim was. He looked so much like his sister, the nose and the shape of the mouth. The torso looked as if it had been sheared through the stomach, entrails lying in the dirt just beneath the strip of flesh that hung above the abdomen. The rest of the trunk and the legs were missing, flies already taking the chance to dive into a fresh meal.

Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, mindful to make as little noise as possible lest Lassiter boot her from the scene, Felicity knelt next to the grave, trying to keep her eyes from focusing on the dark, gruesome mass of human flesh. Bracing herself for what she had to do, she put her hand flat against the grass.

"Damn," she hissed, images flashing so fast it made her vision blur.

"Sawyer? What're you doin' over there?"

Lassiter's voice was, for once, a welcome distraction.

"I'm fixing to make a sacrifice to the great goddess of insults and sarcasm, Lassiter, you should be familiar with the ritual."

"Aren't you cute?" he asked, the derision clear in his tone even though she didn't look up to verify it.

"According to my father, my lesbian hairdresser, and the most appreciative construction workers that whistle when I walk by, yes, I am exceptionally cute."

If he responded, she didn't hear it. The connection with the earth was one of the most twisted she'd ever experienced, recent events overpowering all others as if a huge boulder had been tossed into a shallow pool, and while the banter was a blessed grounding, it faded as soon as the link opened. She was sucked into it and she couldn't sense anything other than what was the ground was telling her. A hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Felicity, it's Juliet, can you hear me?"

Felicity fought to remain aware enough to answer, her tongue feeling heavy and thick in her mouth.

"Dark clouds, no moonlight. The shovel is scraping against the ground, rough rasping against metal. I smell earth, blood, leather…cold. It's so cold I can see breath hanging in the air. Not normal. The ground feels wrong…violated…like taking a knife and plunging it repeatedly into a deep gash. No face, just black. Shaggy hair, though, wavy, blonde, curls at the ends. Tall, large build, muscular, long fingernails, sharpened. Toss the body in, not important. Stab the dirt again, marking the spot, wants to be found. No anger, no pleasure in it, just…needs to be done. Doesn't feel like a job…fulfillment of a contract."

It was clinical, a listing of facts that she had hoped would keep her voice steady as she spoke. Still, when she stood up, her legs were shaky, clasping her arms around her middle as she shivered violently, Juliet's hand still on her shoulder. Everything had been so disjointed, coated in a red film and unlike anything she'd seen. The next words were going to be harder to say, she knew, as she looked across the hole at the other detective.

"I'm going to have to touch the body."

* * *

Lassiter had been adamant that she had to wait until they had transported the deceased man to the morgue and Felicity hadn't argued with him. After everything she had witnessed through her connection with the graveyard, she was more than happy to wait and regain her bearings before opening that particular can of worms.

Something was very wrong though. Lassie and Juliet strongly suspected a hit man, perhaps someone who had it out for the Thompson siblings, but Felicity wasn't certain. She could agree that it was more than likely someone payed to kill them, but she doubted it was anything as simple as buying the services of a murderer for hire.

Gratefully moving from the makeshift grave, she stepped back towards the dilapidated religious building, careful to respect her grandmother's warnings about walking across someone's final resting place. The soles of her shoes scrapped against sun bleached brick as she approached the large doors. Massive slats of lumber covered the windows, trash bags making a rustling sound as a gust of wind made them flutter. She probably should have waited, but something was pulling at her again, energy tugging at the corners of her mind as the memory of the grave's link reverberated.

Felicity looked over her shoulder for a brief moment, seeing the detectives still next to the opening in the earth as techs carefully loaded the remains onto a stretcher. Her stomach gave an uneasy lurch and she jerked her eyes away, clear grey darkening with apprehension.

"Alright, Sawyer, just get this over with," she murmured to herself, lifting her hand hesitantly towards the carved wood.

Licking her dry lips, she put her palm against the door, her senses immediately bombarded. The figure she'd seen at the grave passed through the door, his touch comparative to leaving an oily imprint, overpowering any energy that had ever passed through. Coldness followed him like a vapor trail that touched against her spine. Ripping her hand away and clutching it to her chest, Felicity spun on her heel, the loose strands of her bun tickling her neck.

"Detectives!" A salt-and-pepper head shot up at her call, blonde following suit, and she gestured to the church, "He came through this way."

Felicity waited, if only to avoid the inevitable barking that she would have been subjected to if she hadn't. Taking a small step to the side, she allowed Lassiter and Juliet to enter the building first, guns drawn. When Lassiter called out 'clear', she entered, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Cobwebs hung in dusty strings, the pews coated in a black liquor finish that was still visible, though it was chipping, baring the equally dark wood underneath. The carpet had also been a dark color, perhaps green or blue, but it had faded, rats and other pests having chewed massive holes through the fabric, exposing cold concrete.

"Felicity?" Juliet's voice came from the front of the church, where the alter had once been, her tone a little more high pitched than normal.

"Yeah?"

"What are you getting?"

Felicity ran her fingers over the back of the nearest pew, a flash of the same figure, the same chilled sensation at the grave and the door and something else. Her head snapped up.

"Something really, really bad. It's-it's like...something was pulled-"

She kept moving forward, her voice trailing off as her hands slid against the back of every pew as she stepped down the aisle. She could see black feathers, the scent of blood even thicker, heavier, than at the gravesite. When she approached the two detectives standing at the front of the church, she realized why Juliet had asked the question.

"You _have _got to be kidding me," she groaned, bracing a hand on her hip while the other ran over the hair gathered at the nape of her neck, "Really, really bad."

Melted drops of wax littered the floor around the alter, hardened on the candelabras and the crimson cloth beneath them. What looked like grooves had been burnt into the material and the stone. Three black feathers had been placed neatly in a small wooden bowl off to the side.

Juliet gestured.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Felicity managed to shrug.

"I can't be sure, but it certainly looks like one, doesn't it?"

A rumbling sound came from Lassiter, drawing Felicity's attention.

"So we're looking at potentially ritualistic killings?"

"Potentially, yes."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"What about all the blood out there? Isn't that a staple in your voodoo summonings?"

Felicity's eyes narrowed, but she decided to just let it go.

"Blood is a key component of many religions and magical practices, yes, but not in all of them and it depends on what you're trying to achieve. And...you might not be completely off."

She pointed to the altar.

"This...has the feel of a summoning ritual. What he was trying to summon is the question and why."

Lassiter's skeptical brow was rising again.

"And _you _know this how?"

"Consider my line of work, Detective."

He pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"Great, that's all we need."

Glancing up at the ceiling and silently asking why she'd been chosen for this, Felicity walked up the two low steps up to the makeshift altar. She turned towards Lassiter.

"Thank you for that keen observation, Captain Obvious. Mind making another one?"

She ignored the glare, but hoped he would, in fact, keep talking. This was going to be unpleasant, but necessary, and any distraction was going to be comforting. Breathing in and defying her throat's demand that she cough at the dust now entering her lungs, she touched her hand to the altar. Pain shot through her skull like a thunderbolt.

"Shit," she cursed with a hiss, taking her hand back with a jolt.

Juliet was immediately at her side.

"What? What is it, Felicity?"

Felicity shook her head.

"What ever was here, it was awful...and powerful. I can't get a connection," she looked over at Lassiter, "You're going to need to bring Spencer in on this. He can see without having to make physical contact."

Lassiter groaned.

"Seriously, Sawyer?"

Felicity growled before she took the two and a half strides to poke the detective right in the chest.

"Yes, Lassie, seriously. There is potentially a very, _very _dangerous individual on the loose and I will not only guarantee that he's going to kill again, but also remind you that we don't have a goddamned clue who that victim is going to be. So, yes, if you can put aside your juvenile urge to one-up Spencer, at least on this _one _case, you will realize that we absolutely need him."

She paused to take a breath, looking back to Juliet.

"We are dealing with something far outside the realm of normal and if I can't be sure what that thing is, then I'm asking for someone else to come in that can give you the information that I can't."

The blonde cop nodded, folding her arms to pin Lassiter with a pointed look.

"I believe that's fair enough, don't you, Carlton?"

When Felicity turned back around, the detective was rolling his eyes before gesturing half-heartedly with his hand.

"Alright, O'Hara, alright, Sawyer may have a point. But I'm not going to be the one to call that rat bastard in, clear?"

Juliet held up her hand and started towards the large doors, Felicity on her heels. Before she walked out the door, she turned, biting her bottom lip.

"Hey, Lassie?"

Blue eyes met grey as he walked towards her.

"What, Sawyer?"

She waited until he was standing right in front of her, tilting her head back to keep eye contact.

"Thanks...for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I know that's not something you do often."

Nodding to him, she turned on her heel before he could reply and called over a tall officer to ask for a ride back to the station.

* * *

She met Juliet just outside the morgue, the blonde woman on her cellphone and her arms folded. When she hung up, Felicity raised a brow.

"Shawn?"

Juliet blinked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

The brunette chuckled.

"You only get that expression around Lassie or Shawn, but considering that it's almost time to go home, I assumed it was you talking to Shawn about a date you had this evening."

Juliet smiled.

"So perceptive and psychic? Deadly combination, you must have men lining up around the corner."

Felicity really laughed then as they pushed open the metal doors into the freezing autopsy room.

"More like an intimidating combination."

"Ah, I see. Woody, what have you got?"

"Good afternoon, Detective, Flick."

Felicity had met the coroner her second day and retained her impression that he was sweet, but creepy. At any rate, he was efficient.

"Well, dental records confirmed that this is indeed Garrett Thompson. I estimate time of death to be somewhere between one and three o'clock this morning."

"Cause of death?"

"Based on the severity of his wounds, it's my opinion that this poor fellow bleed to death. But, I did find lacerations on his knuckles, so there was likely a struggle. Or perhaps he had an irresistible urge to punch walls as he walked."

The two women's looks was enough for his self-amused smile to fade. Juliet shifted her weight, ponytail swishing against her neck.

"Have you found any DNA in the wounds?"

Woody shook his head.

"Nothing. The killer must have been extremely careful-"

"Which indicates premeditation," Juliet finished, shaking her head, "That's cold."

Felicity looked towards the refrigeration unit then back towards the remains on the table, chill chasing down her spine. Touching a gloved fingertip on the deceased man's forearm, she felt a sick twisting in her stomach.

"And if my reading was accurate, it's only going to get worse."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: As you all, and the gremlin, know, I own nothin'.**

* * *

"Hello, Jack, I could use you tonight," Felicity muttered as she twisted her key in the door lock.

The sun was barely setting, the warm air making her shirt stick to her back. It felt so incredibly good to be home, she almost missed the envelope that crinkled under her heel. Bending over to scoop it up, she opened the door with a sigh and flicked on the light. A blast of cold hit her as soon as she stepped inside, making her shiver. Mac must have turned the air down, she thought idly, tossing her keys on the counter and reaching back to lock the door behind her. Padding to the cabinet, she absently fixed herself a drink, grabbing two ice cubes and plunking them into the amber liquid.

Glancing over the envelope, she noted that there was no return address, her name written in a looping, elegant cursive. Sliding her thumbnail under the flap, Felicity opened it, pulling out a folded piece of paper that was Bible thin. Who wrote letters these days? Carefully unfolding it, she held it up, reading over the careful writing.

Her eyes widened, the realization hitting her that Mac had told her that morning that she wasn't going to be home that night. Felicity sat straight up in her chair, her throat constricting with panic.

Then the hand came down on her shoulder, cold biting so deep that it seeped past her shirt, her skin, through to her bones.

Unable to keep from wincing, Felicity bit her lip to keep any sound from escaping. The next inhale burned in her chest, as if ice flakes were crystallizing within her lungs. The breath that spilled past her lips was visible, a chill desperately wanting to chase down her spine, but she fought it.

"I'm always amazed at the quality of penmanship I was taught in school. So unlike the drivel they spout at children these days."

The voice was husky, the tones soft, yet sharp, reminding her of silky ribbons that had been shredded. And God, it was so cold.

Her mind was whirling. Could she make it to the Tomcat .32 she kept in the drawer by the back door? Would anyone hear her call for help? She scratched out both those ideas as soon as they formed. If he had intended to kill her, he could have already, so conversation was his most immediate intention. But how long was that going to last?

"What can I do for you?" she asked, too rattled to mind the tremor in her voice.

"Such a lovely accent, Felicity, much more pleasant than that screeching voice of your friend, Mackenzie. But I should answer the question you so politely framed for me. I do enjoy good manners. You'll be pleased to know that you've already accomplished far more than I could have asked of you."

He liked the sound of his own voice. Arrogance, intelligence, cold fury…it all echoed in the contact of his hand on her, despite the gloves. These were attributes too powerful to contain. Others, however, were cloaked to her, like trying to count river stones with the water constantly rushing past. Images flashed so fast she couldn't see them and she wasn't sure to be grateful or irked at that.

"But that isn't why I came to see you this evening, but I think you already know that," the hand squeezed, making her feel light-headed as freezing agony pierced her, black creeping into the edges of her vision, "We'll talk again soon."

And just like that, she was alone, though the cold lingered.

Raising a trembling hand to her forehead, Felicity could do little other than sit, her entire body shaking. She realized tears were streaking her cheeks, the fear churning in her gut sending her bolting to her feet and down the hall to her bathroom, barely containing the retch. Everything she had that day emptied out of her stomach and she was grateful that she'd put her hair back that morning.

Gasping, Felicity fumbled for the folded washcloth that she kept on the sink, moving to put in under the cool water of the tap with legs of jell-o. Pressing it to her face, it only served to remind her of the ice remaining in the air and she dropped it, gripping the edge of the sink with white knuckles. Reassuring herself that the bastard was most definitely not coming back that night, she forced herself to go back to the kitchen and grab her cellphone. Even armed with the knowledge that she was probably safe for the remainder of the night, she moved to the door and pulled her gun out of the drawer.

She had to calm down before she called anyone, she thought as she sank into the cushions of her poofy sofa. She needed to be clear-headed, to have the facts and impressions straight. Thank God Mac hadn't been home tonight. It took many, many breaths for her to feel her heartbeat slow, much less feel remotely ready to speak again. Alright, she could do this.

On instinct, she dialed the first number that came to mind.

It rang twice before it was picked up.

"Lassiter."

"Lassie?" she asked quietly, grimacing at the fear that still laced her voice.

"Sawyer?"

She didn't answer right away, fighting back the panic that was threatening to break out of the tight clamp she'd placed on it. Something in her voice must have tipped him off that something was really wrong, his voice deepening, his tone becoming businesslike, but strong, which is what she needed right then. Another breath.

"Sawyer, where are you?"

"Home. Lassie, he was here," she said haltingly, her throat tightening again, making the next words sound choked, "He was in my house."

He cursed and she heard a sudden rustling.

"Give me the address, Sawyer, and do _not _move until I get there."

His need to constantly repeat the order almost made her smile as she exhaled shakily.

"I won't."

She gave him the address, hearing a door slam. Swallowing thickly, she hung up with him, knowing he was going to be calling in the break-in. Felicity grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, burying her face in the soft fabric and clicking the safety off her pistol to wait for the cavalry.

* * *

Thankful that she didn't start at the knock at the door fifteen minutes later, Felicity stood up and gently replaced the pillow, slipping her thumb back over the safety of the .32.

"Coming," she called, her voice steadier than it had been since she'd gotten home.

She opened the door, and he came barreling in, gun in hand and it filled her with so much relief that she could have kissed him.

Lassiter rounded on her and she lifted her free hand in a mock salute, somewhat pleased that it was steady. Holding a gun could have that effect, she mused.

"Followed orders to the letter, Captain."

Whatever flickered behind his eyes was too fast for her to speculate what it was. He holstered his weapon in his shoulder harness, gaze roving over the small kitchen before settling on her. The harsh blue softened somewhat and he carefully put his hands on her shoulders, the touch utterly different than that monster's, firm and steadying.

"Nice job on following orders, then. Now," he lifted a hand to point at her nose, then at the kitchen table. It was a testament to the scare she'd had that evening that she didn't mind, "O'Hara's called the black and whites, they'll be here in ten. I need to know what the hell happened, Sawyer."

She nodded, licking her dry lips and moved to the counter, unable to bring herself to sit at that table again just yet. Grabbing the tumbler she hadn't touched since she'd come home, she downed it in one smooth motion, then reached for the bottle and poured herself another, filling the glass. She placed her gun on the counter as she leaned back against it.

"Want one?" she asked, flicking her finger against the glass and looking at him expectantly.

He shook his head without looking up, searching his jacket pocket for a pen. Did the man wear anything besides a suit? Felicity shrugged to herself. Maybe he hadn't had a chance to change; she certainly hadn't, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.

"Nah, I don't drink anything remotely fruity."

He looked up then, seeing what she had in hand. Lifting it towards him, she drank that one too, the warm burn beginning to chase away the cold that had wrapped itself around her. She set the tumbler down with a slam.

"Neither do I, when I'm serious."

The expression on his face was grudgingly admiring and it strangely warmed her more than the whiskey. She gestured to her purse on the table.

"There's a pen right on the top."

Grabbing the Bic, he popped off the cap. Felicity's eyes flicked to the door, then chastised herself for being so damned paranoid. When her gaze moved back to Lassiter, he was giving her a considering look. Aw, hell, she thought she was ready for this, but when he opened his mouth to ask the first question, she cut him off.

"I need another drink."

Felicity turned her back to him, her hand going for the bottle, when a larger one wrapped itself around hers made her stop.

"Flick...you've had enough."

Her eyes drifted closed. If he kept talking to her in that kind of voice, she was going to break down again and she would be damned if she did that in front of him. It was one thing to have difficulty speaking, it was entirely another matter to descend into tears. She could feel the warmth of his body and it took everything she had not to lean back into it.

Especially with what she could sense from his touch.

Lassiter was concerned for her, in more than one way. He had a strong, protective instinct and it was part of what made him a good cop. She could feel that he'd somewhat come to regard her as a coworker. What had happened to her was the equivalent of an officer being attacked in his mind and whoever the perp was, was going down. Felicity could feel his begrudged respect for her wit, her perceptions, and the fact that she would not back down, no matter how loud he barked at her. He linked her a little to Juliet, Felicity picking up that he was associating her reaction to the break in to a very traumatic incident that had happened to his partner, increasing his empathy towards her.

All of these connections came together in a matter of two heartbeats. He was strong and male and she so very much wanted to be protected and comforted right then. But, the logical part of her mind sent a blaring warning that she was reacting to a stressful situation, the associations she was rapidly building more in her imagination than based in fact.

She needed to back away before she did something really stupid.

Quietly, she moved away from him, and he let her, until she was safely across the kitchen and stepping into the living room. Felicity sank back into the couch and propped her bare feet on the coffee table, her hand rubbing across her eyes tiredly.

"I came home and there was an envelope on the mat outside," she began, pointing towards the letter still open on the table.

"You read it?"

"Yeah."

The words were going to burn in her memory for a very long time.

"He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please," Lassiter read out loud, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, his head tilting, "Huh, I've read that somewhere before."

Felicity nodded.

"It's from Bram Stoker's _Dracula_. I think he found it to be an amusing irony. And since I didn't do anything other than sit there and be afraid, he thinks he's going to be able to come and go as he pleases," she replied bitterly.

"You did what you had to, Sawyer, and you know as well as I do that he'd probably have done that anyway."

She sighed.

"Fair enough."

"Did he say anything to you?"

Felicity recounted word for word the exchange that had occurred, Lassiter taking notes, his trademark scowl deepening as she spoke. It was easier to say when the lights were on and someone else was here. By the time he'd finished questioning her, the uniforms came to the door. She let them in, although she knew that they wouldn't find any trace of the intruder. Juliet immediately grabbed her hands and gave them a squeeze, a silent comfort that made Felicity certain she was the one who usually dealt with families.

"Are you alright, Felicity?"

She nodded with a small smile.

"Yes, yes, I'm alright. A little shaken up, but alright."

"O'Hara!"

Excusing herself, Juliet moved towards Lassiter as he stood in the middle of her living room. Looking at the bottle still on her counter longingly, Felicity sighed and moved to put it away. Seeing her .32, she picked it up, intending to tuck it back in its hiding place when she heard her name across the room.

"Sawyer!"

And we're back to the damned barking, she thought with a groan, putting up the gun and stepping through the archway towards the two detectives.

"You bellowed?" she asked dryly, biting her lip when she heard Juliet snort.

"I see being scared out of your wits hasn't done anything to dull that forked tongue of yours," he groused and she smiled for the first time since she'd gotten home.

Reaching over to the drawer he'd apparently pulled open, he lifted out another pistol.

"What are you doing with an 87 Beretta in your side table?" he asked, brow lifting.

She tilted her head at him.

"To be specific, it's an Beretta 87 Cheetah. It doesn't carry many rounds, but it's got an ambidextrous safety feature and a double-action trigger," she shrugged, "It's a damned useful gun and I live with a paranoid roommate."

Juliet gave her a quizzical look.

"How many guns do you have in the house?"

"Ten," she answered without hesitation.

"What do you keep next to your bed?" Lassiter interjected.

"Carlton!"

"What? It's a legitimate question."

"Juliet, it's fine," Felicity held up her hand before answering, "Glock 23."

Lassiter's hands slowly went to his hips as he stared at her.

"Loaded?"

"Always."

She noted a strange expression on Lassiter's face before something she'd just said registered, her eyes widening.

"Oh, crap, Mac! I'd completely forgotten to call her! Excuse me."

It took a little convincing to reassure Mac that she was okay, and a great deal of bribery to convince her to stay with her sister for a few days.

"Mac, love, I have an entire department of cops looking out for me right now. I'll survive somehow without you for a week or so."

"You're just lucky that, one, I trust you, and two, that I can be so easily bought," she trailed off for a second, "You're really alright?"

"Sweetie, I promise I'm alright. I'll keep you up to speed if I can, deal?"

"Deal. Just watch yourself, alright? No Mississippi impressions."

"No Mississippi impressions, I swear."

She hung up not too long after that, raising her eyes to see Juliet looking at her with a half smile.

"What's a Mississippi impression?"

Felicity chuckled.

"Go watch _El Dorado. _The handsome and daring James Caan dives under galloping horses, making them jump, their riders unable to shoot, and saves Robert Mitchum in the process."

Juliet nodded, pursing her lips. The two women shared a silent moment of appreciation for older men, especially the cowboy type, before the blonde put her hand on Felicity's arm. She guided the brunette to the couch and gestured for her to sit down. Her blue eyes looked into Felicity's earnestly.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Felicity asked suspiciously and Juliet sighed.

"No, no you're not. Felicity...we need to move you to a safer location," she held up her hands as the other woman started to protest, "Just until this investigation is over. We'll have a security detail coming by every day to check on the house, but tonight proves that it just isn't safe here for you. Do you have anyone you can stay with in the meantime?"

Felicity shook her head.

"No. No surviving family to speak of, and the closest person to me already lives with me. And before you suggest it, I'm not staying with Mac and risk putting her in danger."

Juliet started to say something, but Lassiter strode back into the room from the kitchen, his thumb jerking over his shoulder.

"Sawyer, grab a bag, you're staying with me at my place until we get a handle on this guy."

The two women's expressions could have been interchangeable.

"Are you serious, Lassie?" Felicity asked, her tone incredulous.

"Look, I'm Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department, and-"

"A fact that you never let anyone forget," she muttered, standing with her arms crossed and starting down the hallway towards her bedroom.

"Aaaand," he continued, to emphasize her rude interruption, "there isn't anywhere safer in this city, besides lockup, than my condo."

"She could stay at the Psych office," she heard Juliet say as she gathered some of her things.

"And how many times has that place been broken in to? No, she needs to stay somewhere safe and my place is, again, the safest place I know. Sawyer!"

"Yeah?" she called from down the hall as she tucked away her toothbrush in a small bag.

"Bring that Glock, you're going to need it!"

Now how did that bastard manage to piss her off and make her laugh at the same time?


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Talk to the gremlin. :)**

* * *

"You keep an amazingly clean living space," Felicity commented as Lassiter opened the door.

"Thanks. Perhaps it'll give you a few pointers."

The son of a—she let out a breath and held her tongue. He'd given her a safe place to stay and was providing her with the kind of protection that many people could never afford. So, she swallowed her pride as she set her bag down on the leather sofa.

"Maybe so. I'll take it under consideration."

She took the opportunity to look around as Lassiter locked the door. It was pleasantly decorated, clean simple lines with tasteful, comfortable furniture. A few potted plants dotted the living room, earthy colors seeming to be the scheme. She found that she liked it. It was a relief from the scattering of purples that pervaded her home with Mac. Felicity turned to him as she heard the lock click.

"Which way to the kitchen?"

Lassiter gestured as he took off his jacket.

"On the left."

Felicity walked through the archway he indicated and immediately started opening cabinets. The ride across town had given her more time to think than she'd have liked. She wasn't going to get to sleep tonight, not without just a little bit of help. She heard his clipped tread on the hardwood floor coming up behind her.

"What the hell are you doing, Sawyer?"

"Can you ever ask a 'what' question without adding the 'hell'? Not that I mind, it's just an observation."

"Fine. Sawyer, what are you looking for?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see him leaning back against the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles while his arms were folded over his lean chest. His head was tilted, his expression a mixture of irritation and exasperation.

"A glass," she said finally and he pointed to the corner cabinet.

She followed his finger and grabbed a small glass from the shelf, setting it down on the counter as she reached for the dark bottle near the sink.

"I thought we had this discussion," he remarked quietly.

Sighing, she turned to him, tapping her temple lightly.

"I won't get to sleep tonight without a little bit more help than I've had," the look on his face, like a parent questioning a child, made her uncomfortable, so she added, "Comes from being the child of a fifth generation bootlegger. The alcohol threshold is a tad high."

He regarded her silently for a moment before he pushed away from the counter and Felicity worried that she would have to explain further, about how she just couldn't go to sleep knowing she would dream. However, he simply took the glass from her hand. His fingers were warm where they brushed hers, energy leaving an agreeable tingle in his wake. He turned to open the freezer, cubes of ice clinking in the glass before he moved to the sink. He stood next to her, reaching past her arm for the bottle, then twisted it open.

He poured the amber liquid, the ice cracking. Lassiter slid it over to her and she took it, swirling the whiskey idly before taking a slow sip.

"Thanks," she murmured quietly.

"Don't mention it," he replied gruffly, reaching out to grasp her arms lightly and shift her over so he could reach the cabinet behind her.

The motion made her lips twitch.

"What am I, a kid?"

He snorted, grabbing a second glass.

"You're hardly a kid, Sawyer. You're at least what, twenty-five?"

She chuckled, taking another sip, her body relaxing as the whiskey warmly traveled down to settle in her belly.

"Sweet, but no, I'm actually thirty-three."

He spun on his heel to stare at her, his hand poised at the freezer door.

"You're kidding."

She gave him an amused look.

"What? Can't believe I'm that old?"

That got him to smile a little.

"Thirty-three isn't old, Sawyer. You're younger than me."

"By how much?"

His chuckle was coarse as he shook his head at her, pouring himself his own glass of whiskey.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to ask a man his true age?"

"If she did, I wasn't aware of it. She died bringing me into the world."

He froze for maybe half a second, then set the bottle back in its place.

"Sorry."

She downed the rest of the whiskey.

"That's got to be the first genuine apology I've heard out of you yet. And don't be. Old wound, long healed."

Her voice was thick with levity, masking the old bitterness that she could still taste like acid in the back of her mouth. Lassiter leaned next to her with his drink in hand, his free hand folded beneath.

"Some wounds just scab over," he observed, taking a long pull of his whiskey.

"That sounds like the salt in your hair talking more than the pepper," she replied with a wry smile.

This chuckle was rougher, deeper, and it made her brows rise.

"Wow, two laughs in one day? I need to drink with you more often."

He looked over at her with a smirk.

"Now why would you want to do that?"

She was grinning now as she poured herself another drink.

"Detective Lassiter, are you flirting with me?" she asked quietly, not surprised when he scowled down at her, leaning over to take the bottle from her.

"Don't flatter yourself, Sawyer. Although," he added, his expression turning thoughtful, "I will admit that you are a relatively attractive woman with excellent taste in guns."

She scoffed at him before taking another sip.

"Relatively? Relatively? I'll have you know that these eyes, this hair, and these lips make me a highly attractive woman."

He looked down at her as she finished her drink before making a murmuring noise, knocking back most of his own liquor.

"Alright, I'll give you that you're attractive, Sawyer. Satisfied?"

She nodded to him, raising her empty glass.

"Why, thank you, Detective. And I will give you that you are also attractive. It helps that I find older men to be very good-looking. There is something to be said for experience."

The tips of his ears started to color and she really laughed then.

"You're blushing, Lassie."

"I am not! And since when did you start calling me Lassie?"

"Oh, yes, you are! And since I discovered that it's less of a mouthful than saying Lassiter all the time."

Felicity shifted, stepping over his feet that he'd crossed in front of him, and leaning to put her glass in the sink. Her arm brushed his chest and she noted that his body was as warm as she'd felt in her kitchen. This easy banter felt good, the tense set of her thoughts soothed by the whiskey and the conversation. Letting out a relaxed sigh, she looked up at him with a lazy, teasing smile, her hands moving to her hips.

The flush had moved down from his ears to his cheeks, but his blue eyes were glinting with good humor, an expression she tucked into her memory, because she doubted she was going to see it very often. The thought was sobering and her smile faded, along with the look in his eyes. He tilted his head at her again, his brow furrowing.

"What, Sawyer?"

Felicity shook her head.

"Nothing, Lassie, it's just all catching up with me, I guess," she replied, stretching her arms up and twisting her torso, eyes closing.

Her back cracked and she exhaled in relief, linking her fingers behind her head. She hummed under her breath, letting her thoughts go and her mind eased. When she opened her eyes again, Lassiter was gazing at her with the same expression she'd seen earlier that night when he'd asked about her guns. Which reminded her, she thought, stepping back and lowering her arms; Felicity turned on her heel, her hands again on her hips.

"So, where am I sleeping?"

When he didn't answer, she glanced over her shoulder and caught his gaze wandering in an area much lower than the back of her head. Biting her lip, she tilted her head at him.

"Um, Lassie?"

He started.

"Huh? Yeah, Sawyer?"

"Where can I sleep?"

Lassiter put his glass next to hers in the sink and quickly strode past her, his ears still pink. It made a secret smile curve her lips, one she was certain was well hidden by the time he looked back at her. Grabbing her bag for her, he led her towards the hall and a door on the right.

"This's the spare bedroom. Mine's across the hall behind you. Bathroom's all the way down at the end."

She nodded as he opened the door and followed him in. It was in neutral colors, crèmes and browns and immediately she missed her room at home. He must have seen her expression, because when he set the bag down on the bed and turned to her, his lips twisted in an ironic half smile.

"I know it isn't home—"

"It's nice, Lassie. I like it," she nodded to him with a smile that was brighter than she felt, "And again, I want to say thanks for letting me stay."

He shrugged, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, like I said, it's the safest place I know."

Before it could get more awkward, Felicity moved out of the doorway, her fingers twisting together.

"Good night, Lassie."

He nodded, his lips pressing together.

"Good night, Sawyer," he replied, starting to stride out the door before he turned to her, "Which reminds me, where's your G 23?"

She moved to the bed, unzipping her bag and pulling out the black pistol. With a click, she pulled out the magazine and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly, checking the bullets.

".40 caliber, full mag. Not bad," he tossed it back to her, shoving his hands in his pockets, "You know how to use that thing?"

She loaded the glock and checked the chamber with a swift snap that could only be accomplished with familiarity, and a grin.

"Take me out to the range one of these days and I'll show you."

His eyes lit up, the baby blue shifting to a deeper, steel shade.

"I'll see about that."

She nodded, turning slightly to open the nightstand drawer and putting the gun inside before sliding it shut. When she looked back, she smiled quietly at him.

"Good night, Lassie."

He nodded.

"Good night."

He shut the door behind him and Felicity swiftly changed clothes, more than happy to slip on the threadbare _Cops _t-shirt her dad had given her when she was twelve, although now it barely reached mid thigh where it had once fell past her knees. Crawling between the cool sheets, she set the alarm on her phone and snuggled into the pillow, praying like hell to whoever might be listening that she would get some sleep before daybreak.

It didn't seem like anyone upstairs had her frequency.

Felicity awoke later that night in an unfamiliar room with a scream on her lips, gasping for air. Choking it back, she sat up, slightly disoriented. Her heart was hammering, the blood thudding dully in her ears. Fear was like a vice in her chest, constricting painfully as her eyes darted around the room.

It didn't help when a tall figure barreled into her room in blue pajamas, scaring the hell out of her with a sharp yelp.

"Sawyer? What's going on? Where is he?"

Pushing back the unruly mass of curls that kept falling into her vision, she reached for the lamp with a hand that was far steadier than she felt. God, wasn't the alcohol supposed to help her sleep? All it had done was lower her guard so the dream could sneak up on her. The light flicked on and she saw Lassiter standing in the doorway, legs braced and gun drawn. Did he actually go to sleep or was his hearing that acute to have heard her gasp across the hall through two solid doors? Then again, she could have suspected either one of him. The comforter had pooled around her waist, but she tossed it back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, cradling her head in her hands.

"No one's here, Lassie. I had a bad dream, just-just go back to bed."

She heard him shift near the door, then the mattress gave next to her, making her jump. When startled grey met blue, she relaxed a little, pushing her hair back again, the curls spilling into her face with every movement. Then she smacked him on the bicep with a scowl.

"Jesus, Lassie, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know you were this jumpy?" he shot back with an irritated frown, "I just came in her to make sure you were still alive."

Her expression softened at that and she nodded tiredly.

"I'm fine. Like I said, bad dream," she looked down at the gun in his lap warily, "You wanna uncock that thing before you shoot something important?"

Snorting derisively at her, he slid his thumb over the safety and reached across her to set the gun on the nightstand. Then he leaned his forearms on his thighs. Was she imagining things again or did his eyes widen slightly when they caught sight of her bare legs? Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she noted that his gaze was indeed moving up her body, lingering on her chest and making her acutely aware that she didn't wear a bra to bed. She looked away when he reached her shoulder, unwilling to be caught staring. He was male; she'd have been insulted if he didn't look. At least, that was what she was telling herself.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head vehemently.

"No. I just-let's just try and get some sleep, alright?"

He shrugged.

"Alright. See you in the morning then."

She nodded again, tucking her legs back under the covers as he rose. A thought crossing her mind, she looked up at him as he was padding towards his room.

"Hey Lassie?"

He turned around halfway across the room.

"Yeah, Sawyer?"

She just could not resist, her lips curving into a smirk.

"Knock next time, huh? I might not be decent."

She would have given her left kidney to have been touching him at that moment to see what he was thinking as he hastily closed the door behind him.

* * *

The next morning was a rainy one, and that was strangely comforting to Felicity as she carefully unpacked some of her clothes. The dreams were all the same, a black figure stalking her and the air around her becoming molasses, rending her unable to run. The droplets pattering against the windowpane seemed to wash away the night time memory. Choosing a navy blue blouse and black slacks, she laid them out on a chair, then tugged on some sweatpants. Poking her head out the door, she listened, hearing faint stirring from the kitchen. She left her bedroom door ajar and scurried to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

As she raised brush to tooth to begin the morning ritual, her eyes passed over the articles on the sink, seeing a razor, a single blue toothbrush, a half used tube of toothpaste, aftershave lotion, but her eyes lingered on the toothpaste. She moved the toothbrush away from her mouth with a considering glance.

By the time she'd dressed and walked into the kitchen, she found an empty mug waiting for her on the counter. Felicity looked around a minute even though she was alone, then allowed herself the smile before moving to the fridge to get some milk. Lassiter walked in then, tugging the last strap on his shoulder harness.

"Good morning, Sawyer," he greeted, his eyes briefly cutting towards her, "I see you're broomless this morning, so maybe the day won't be a total disappointment."

She barely glanced at him, stirring in sugar with a large spoon.

"You're implications of witchcraft are getting stale, Lassiter. You might want to try new material."

"I could start on your lack of culinary hygiene within the confines of your own home."

"And I could reiterate that I don't live alone, thus making your insult moot. What's your point?"

He started to move past her to fix his own cup but paused right next to her. Lassiter turned towards her, his brow furrowed.

"You smell like cinnamon."

She shrugged, taking a sip of the blessed liquid.

"I forgot my toothpaste," she lied smoothly, then tapped her mug with a fingernail, changing the subject, "half cream, four spoons of sugar."

He snorted as he put the milk back in the fridge.

"And I suppose you're going to expect it to be ready when you get up in the morning?" he shook his head with a bitterly mocking smirk, "Typical woman."

Felicity tilted her head and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, biting back the retort she had ready. He'd given her a roof over her head, she kept telling herself.

"I think I like you better when you're drinking," she muttered, draining her cup and setting the mug in the sink.

He glared at her, but she ignored him, reaching into her pocket when she felt her cellphone buzzing. It was a text from Gus.

"Is it the station?" Lassiter asked, setting down his cup at her elbow as he leaned over nosily to see what the text said.

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the phone into his hand.

"No, it's from Gus, but I'm sure you'll deduce that in time."

Where had the easy conversation of the night before gone? Evaporated with the sunrise, she guessed, sprinkling salt into his coffee discreetly as he stared at her phone. He handed the phone back to her and picked up his cup again.

"Looks like he wants a date. Does he know he's risking a needle in his skull?"

Gus did want to meet her for lunch, but she doubted she'd go, not when she could fulfill her apple cravings by simply walking down the street from the station. She'd let him down gently later. Then a thought occurred to her, but she had to keep the smile from curving her lips. Maybe Mac would like to meet him?

"Lassie, I'm not going to dignify that with an answer, other than I don't like needles, so why would I poke other people with them?" she replied finally with a haughty glance, moving swiftly into the living room as he took a sip of his coffee.

The sputter behind her made her smirk as she strode out the kitchen.

"Won't dignify that-oh, real mature, Sawyer!"

The smirk turned into a grin.

"Constant vigilance, oh paranoid one, constant vigilance!"


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **_**I changed the title, since the more I looked at it, the less it was working. Kudos if you can see the reference! Now, on to the latest chapter! :)**

**Disclaimer: As the gremlin states...nada. :)**

* * *

The car ride was surprisingly mild. Lassiter seemed to be too preoccupied making sure they weren't being tailed to attempt to get under her skin. He didn't even follow her into the station. She supposed that if he didn't feel that she was safe enough to enter a building full of cops with loaded guns alone, then there was no where he was would to let her go without him. Admittedly, it was a fair enough point, even if he hadn't verbally made it.

Shawn was sitting in the chair she had claimed by the time she reached Henry's desk. He was slouched comfortably, his legs stretched out in front of him while Henry worked. Gus was perched on the side of the desk, his cellphone in hand and Felicity felt a flash of guilt.

Shawn turned his head and saw her walking towards them. He jumped to his feet.

"Flick! You alright?"

There was a sincere concern in his eyes that made her smile. She reached out and patted his arm.

"I'm fine, Shawn, thanks for asking. Hey Gus, Henry," she greeted the other two over Shawn's shoulder.

"Mornin' Flick, feelin' alright?" Henry asked and she nodded, sinking into her chair.

"For the most part. I'm gonna have to learn how to sleep very quietly, though. I don't think I could handle Lassie barging into my room every time I get a tickle in my throat."

Henry chuckled, but Shawn gave her an unbelieving look.

"You're staying at Lassie's?"

She looked up at him and nodded.

"If it makes you feel better, I wasn't given much of a choice."

Gus cleared his throat.

"Felicity, if you'd rather stay somewhere else—"

She held up a hand with a gentle smile.

"Thanks, Gus, but right now the situation works and I'd just really like to know what you guys got when you went by the church yesterday."

Gus shuddered, holding his hands up while Shawn crossed his arms.

"The spirits, unfortunately, didn't have much to say, other than the place was creep central and that it is the perfect place to set up a Freddie trap."

Felicity arched a brow.

"With Danger Prone Daphne built in," she observed, making him grin.

"Nice, Flick."

"Thank you," she looked over at Henry, "Did Forensics get anything?"

Henry slapped his hand against the grey folder on his desk.

"Not a damned thing, exactly like the last crime scene. That reminds me, we tried to trace the serial number of that gun."

She looked at him tiredly.

"Let me guess, nada?"

Henry nodded, rubbing at his eyes.

"It's weird, like this guy just doesn't even exist, but we've got clear signatures, hell a paper trail, but every name we run comes up a dead end. He's like a ghost."

She wasn't ready to admit it to them, but she was starting to think that a ghost wasn't that far out of the realm of possibility. She kept running through what had happened last night and she couldn't remember hearing a door opening, footsteps, breathing, nothing. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. There had been no sense of life around him. Granted, it was a sensation she often didn't pay much attention to. It was an awareness, and as she considered the connection she had made with him, the more the lack of that awareness nagged at her. It had been like a dead space or a vacuum and that fact disturbed her more than anything else about that encounter.

Gus's light touch on her shoulder broke her train of thought and she glanced up at him questioningly. Then she was reminded again the text from earlier that morning.

"I don't think I can make lunch, Gus. I don't eat much more than an apple to keep my energy up."

He nodded, clearly disappointed. She felt bad, but she really didn't want to lead him on. Instead, she promised herself she'd take him and Shawn out to dinner before too long, when she wasn't constantly waiting for that cold whisper against her neck. Suppressing a shudder, she straightened in the chair to see Henry staring at her with a knowing look. She tilted her head at him.

"Yes, Henry?"

Exhaling a heavy breath through his nose, he leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head.

"You sure you don't want to take a couple of days?"

She blinked at him.

"Did you really ask me that?"

He held his hands up.

"Don't get your feathers all ruffled, Flick, I had to ask. You want to talk to the Doc?"

She shook her head.

"No, Henry. Honestly, I'm fine."

"By the way, Flick, satisfy my curiosity. What'd you do before you got this job?"

Felicity looked up at Shawn before replying dryly, "And how is that your business, Shawn?"

"It isn't, but, like I said, I'm curious."

Felicity didn't get a chance to answer.

"Ms. Sawyer!"

Wincing as the Chief yelled across the bullpen, Felicity turned in her chair to see her standing with her palm braced against the door. She jerked her hand behind her.

"In my office, now!"

Felicity stood, spotting Shawn pursing his lips and she clamped her palm over his mouth as she walked past.

"You start that juvenile 'ooooh' noise and I'm going to pull your eyeballs out through your nostrils."

"Aw, c'mon, Flick," she heard him whine, but she ignored him, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders as she briskly strode towards the glass double doors. Pulling the door to behind her, she stood in front of the desk with her hands behind her back.

"Yes, Chief."

The older woman was standing behind the desk, her hands braced against the wooden surface and a hard look in her eyes.

"I understand you had a trying night, Ms. Sawyer."

Felicity tried for a half-hearted smile, reaching up to brush a stray dark ringlet that was tickling her cheek.

"You could call it that, Chief."

Chief Vick's expression didn't change.

"I assume Henry has informed you that the Department-"

"Not to interrupt, Chief, but Henry's told me and I declined. I'm fine."

The Chief shifted her weight, her eyes pinning Felicity's and she felt her heart sink.

"You know what I'm going to say."

Felicity sighed, rubbing her hand across her forehead before lowering it again.

"Chief, I don't agree that-"

"It doesn't matter if you agree, Ms. Sawyer. If you stay on this case, it is not only a conflict of interest, it would also jeopardize your safety, and that has to be my first consideration."

Frustration loosened her tongue.

"Chief, every cop out in that bullpen has been alerted to what happened last night, not to mention that I have at least enough intelligence to not go anywhere by myself right now. Give me a chan-"

"No. Ms. Sawyer," the Chief cut her off firmly, holding up a hand, "you are _off_ this case. Now, dismissed."

Infuriated, Felicity opened her mouth to protest further, but then closed it with a snap. She whirled on her heel and jerked the door open, resisting the urge to slam it as hard as she could. Stomping back towards Henry's desk, the cops in the pen gave her a wide berth. Her hands slammed down on the worn wood, making his head snap up to meet her harsh eyes.

"Where's the firing range?" she growled.

He pointed towards the stairwell leading down and she whirled on her heel, curls flying with the motion as she stalked off. Following the conveniently posted signs, she descended down to the underground range.

The gun was a welcome weight in her hand as she loaded it, cocking the borrowed glock with a vicious jerk. She didn't bother to aim, her finger squeezing the trigger as she pointed it towards the target. Emptying the chamber into the unfortunate paper's chest, she lowered the weapon and hit the switch next to her to bring the target in. She pulled the ear guards from over her ears and placing them on the small table in front of her.

Felicity grabbed the target and unclipped it, inspecting her marksmanship. The cluster was tight.

"Feeling any better, Flick?"

She turned around to see Juliet standing behind her with her arms folded and one hip thrust out. Felicity arched a brow.

"You're calling me Flick now? Next thing you know Lassie's going to be calling me that outside of emergencies."

Juliet's musical laugh spilled out as she stepped forward, holding out a hand and Felicity handed over her target.

"That's some impressive shooting," Juliet observed, eyeing the grouping with a critical look, "Was that 15 feet?"

"Yeah," Felicity replied absently, rigging up a new target.

Juliet made a 'hmm' sound, folding the paper neatly.

"Where'd you learn to shoot?"

"My granddad had a still when I was growing up. Me and some of my cousins were often relegated to guard duty."

The detective frowned.

"Why?"

Felicity shot her a sardonic grin.

"He was a suspicious old bastard, but he said he wasn't trusting anyone, not even family, to protect his precious moonshine unless they could shoot to kill on a new moon and half skunked."

The sound of the door opening at that moment had her glancing over her shoulder.

"Skunked? You've been watching way too much _Andy Griffith, _Sawyer."

Her lips curled into a sneer as she automatically reloaded.

"Carlton," Juliet said in a warning tone.

"O'Hara, nobody uses the word 'skunked' anymore. Cut me some slack," Lassiter replied as he drew his weapon, checking the magazine as he stepped towards the booth next to Felicity's.

She snatched the switch, slipping her thumb over the safety as it whizzed back. Putting the ear guards back up over her head kept her from hearing what Juliet told him, though she imagined that it was some form of chastisement.

"Don't worry about it, Juliet, he just has to have someone to poke at or it's a bad day," she snipped, ignoring the burning sensation at her temple that let her know Lassiter was glaring at her.

With a steadying breath, she lifted her arm and fired, rapidly emptying the clip again. Then the target was flying towards her, fluttering, as she popped the empty magazine, loading again in a series of jerked motions.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she glanced up in time to see Juliet leaving with her hands thrown up in the air and Lassiter's blue eyes peering at her. Pulling the ear guards off, she tossed them onto the table irritably.

"What?" she snapped.

He scowled at her, then turned his attention to his own target, clearly deciding not to say whatever he had intended to. Tugging the paper down, she swiftly replaced it with another one and touched her finger to the switch.

"Fifteen feet all you can manage?" he asked her sharply and her head snapped up, eyes flashing.

"You got a point to that question or are you just _trying _to piss me off?"

Not bothering wait for his answer, she hit the switch again, sending the target further back, to 25 feet.

"You know what, put that damned target up," she ground out, yanking up the ear guard.

Impatiently, she tapped her finger against the table as Lassiter settled safety glasses across his eyes and tossed up his ear guards. She held up three fingers and he nodded. Counting silently, she hit one and fired, three piercing the head, three the chest. Lowering the guards, she put her gun on the table, bracing her hands against it as she waited for the target. Glancing over, she could see that Lassiter's shots were close to hers, two in the head, four in the chest.

Exhaling, she felt some of her anger dissolve. Every bullet ripping through thin paper was like ratcheting another notch with a wrench, loosening the tense set of her shoulders. Taking down the target, she took it in hand, putting the safety glasses and ear guards on the table next to the gun. Indignation was still simmering in her blood stream, but she did feel a little better.

With a low sound, she slapped the target against his chest as he turned, leaning into him so that he could read her lips.

"I can manage just fine," she snarled, dropping her hand and marching out the door.

* * *

By the time the hour hand struck seven, Felicity was chest deep in files, one hand touching a grey folder while the other scribbled frantically on a notepad. After spending her fury in the practice range, she had commandeered the conference room with a stack of paperwork that she'd pilfered from Henry's desk. She'd warned a nearby uniform that under no circumstances was anyone to cross the threshold unless it pertained to the Thompson case. When he'd objected, Felicity simply gave him an icy stare, indicating that she was not going to repeat herself.

Her eyes were currently scanning over the scant details of another missing person's case, a boy that couldn't have been more than five. His big brown eyes were warm and happy and as her fingertips brushed over his picture, she knew that was his personality too. He had a good home, loving parents, and a German Shepard called Duke that was too big to be the lap dog it thought it was. She glanced towards the report on the opposite side of the personal information, noting that he'd vanished somewhere between his house and the end of the street that his family lived on.

"Where'd you go, baby?" she asked the silent picture, seeing a bright red shirt, a grin that was missing one of his front teeth, and a green plastic tricycle.

"Sawyer!"

Well, if someone bellows your name, you at least look up. Searching for the source, her gaze landed on a tall, lean build striding towards her. Leaning back in the leather chair, she sighed as Lassiter approached.

"What is it, Lassie?" she asked wearily before sweeping her hand over the stacks of paper in front of her, "I'm a little busy."

He pointed at the clock on the wall before jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Let's roll."

Letting out another breath, Felicity lifted her arms from those of the chair before letting them fall back down. Brushing a curled strand that escaped her headband, she looked up at him pointedly.

"No."

He blinked at her.

"Excuse me?"

"No," she repeated, before elaborating, "I'm not leaving right now. If that's a problem, go home and I'll find a couch somewhere in the building."

With that, she rolled closer to the table, picking up her pen again. Hopefully ignoring him would piss him off enough that he'd leave her be and she could bury herself in work.

Felicity bit back a yelp when her chair was suddenly yanked back and spun. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, pinning her in place as he leaned down till he was eye level with her, his nose almost brushing hers. His mouth was set in a determined line, blue gaze boring into her surprised one.

"Look, I know the Chief took you off the case and you're pissed and frustrated and ready to take it out on damned near anything that walks by. But y_ou _are leaving _right _now," his voice rumbled, reaching around her to grab a handful of files before straightening away from her, "You can take it with you, now let's go."

Lassiter didn't give her a chance to protest again, taking her by the elbow and firmly guiding her out of the conference room and towards the exit. She was in the car before she realized it and when she went to open the door, the lock clicked down.

"Dammit, Lassie!" she cursed as he slid into the driver's seat beside her.

He tossed the files into her lap as he turned the key in the ignition.

"You can be as pissed as you want, Sawyer, but the fact is you're not leaving my sight until you cool off and probably not then, not until we catch that bastard."

He put the car in drive and Felicity ground her teeth, barely restraining from slamming her fist into the dashboard. Shoving her hand through her hair, she snatched her headband off and combed her fingers through the dark strands in impotent acerbity. The first ten minutes were tense as he weaved through traffic. Unable to take the silence anymore, she looked at him across the car.

"Sweet Evelina."

His eyes flickered towards her.

"What?"

"I know you're a Civil War buff, have you ever heard that song, Sweet Evelina?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Just answer the damned question, Lassie, it'll make me feel better," she snapped.

"Fine," he shot back with an exasperated look, "Yes, I've heard the song."

Felicity felt some of her vexation fade and she let out a breath, looking out at the passing streetlights.

"I knew a man who sang it all the time," she murmured, feeling weary then, "You remind me a little bit of him."

His lips twisted in that sardonic smile of his, changing lanes.

"Was he at least good-looking?"

She chuckled.

"For eighty, yeah, I'd say he was a distinguished gentleman."

Lassiter scowled. Relenting, she leaned towards him, her arms folding across her stomach.

"If it makes you feel better, Lassie, your job is way cooler than his ever was."

He glanced at her suspiciously.

"What'd he do?"

Felicity moved back towards the car door, sinking further into the pleather seat.

"He was a farmer...and a preacher."

They were quiet for a little while, Felicity letting her thoughts drift for a while. Her eyes drifted shut and she could see the mountain range where she grew up, clouds filling the dips and sprinkling the deep green firs in clear droplets. She could still smell pine needles and damp wood.

Opening her eyes again, she was caught off guard to see that they were already parking in front of the building. She followed him into the elevator, cradling the files in the crook of her arm. They rode up in silence, his keys jangling as he turned them in the lock to his condo.

As he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his couch, Felicity set her paper burden on the table, pulling back a chair. The top file was already open as Lassiter turned around, loosening his tie.

"You want anything?"

She shook her head, her eyes already pouring over the information in front of her. With a little luck, she wouldn't have to sleep tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, the gremlin promises!**

* * *

When her eyes fluttered open, it was still dark outside. With a groan, she lifted her head from where it had been pillowed on her arms. The lamp light bathed the room in a soft glow as she blinked away the sleep that lingered. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was early in the morning, not quite dawn yet. She winced when she shifted in the chair, making it creak.

Well, he was going to come rushing into the room anyway, she thought, so to hell with it.

Felicity stood from the chair with a moan as her sore back protested to having been hunched in such an uncomfortable position for so long. Papers were scattered across the table, files spilling over each other as she rolled her shoulders, her back cracking in a series of dull pops. She needed to change, she thought, another grimace skittering across her features, and a shower. Padding as quietly as she could, she moved to the guest room and grabbed her bottle of shampoo, a fresh shirt, underwear and her sweat pants, rolling them into a tight ball.

At least when he came out of his room this time, she was ready for it.

He aimed his gun down the hall and Felicity gave him a tired look.

"It's just me, Lassie, go back to bed."

He lowered his weapon, running a hand through his hair as he looked at her with a bleary kind of annoyance.

"Sawyer, what the hell are you prowling around for at this time of night?"

She tossed her clothes over her shoulder, putting her hands on her hips.

"Going to take a shower," she lifted her hand to cover a yawn, "I slept at the table apparently."

He looked towards the living room before lifting his arms in bewilderment.

"What the hell for?"

"I like sleeping sitting up, why do you think?" she snapped, rolling her eyes, "I fell asleep there."

"Huh, fair enough," he replied, making her scoff in exasperation.

Irritable and desperately wanting to be under hot, soothing water at that moment, she starting unbuttoning her blouse, reaching the second one by the time she caught his suddenly rapt attention.

"Look. I'm sore, sleep deprived, and two seconds from stripping in this hallway if you don't stop pestering me with inane, sleep-addled questions," she growled, her thumb smoothing over the third button, ignoring the beating of butterfly wings in her stomach as his eyes zeroed in on her fingers.

Felicity's eyes traveled over his face, wandering down to his throat when she saw him swallow hard. But then those intensely blue eyes were on hers, making her breath catch in her throat. A gleam was in them, almost predatory, as his gaze locked on hers. It occurred to her in that moment that she was playing with something that was more than likely to bite back if she pushed it. He'd lowered his gun, but she could see out of her periphery vision that his hand had tightened on the grip.

It was baffling to her. She knew her hair was wildly curling in every direction as it tumbled around her face in a ringleted mess. Black smudges darkened her eyes, her face pale from the lack of sleep and her clothes wrinkled from being worn too long. So what was with that look? A sudden urge to touch him, to actually see what he was thinking in that moment struck her like a thundering train, so strong that her fingers actually flexed against the fabric of her shirt, just over where her heartbeat had quickened.

With a certain amount of effort, she finally forced her eyes from his by turning on her heel and quickly escaping to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and immediately fell back against the dark wood, her breathing still uneven. What the _hell _had that been all about?

"That's what you get, you thick-skulled idiot," she muttered to herself, a weird constriction in her chest that was making her insides squirm.

Grumbling under her breath, she stripped then, folding her clothes neatly on top of the hamper near the door to wash later, if she got the chance. She twisted the knob, steam and heat streaming down on her as she stepped into the shower. A generous helping of her favorite shampoo filled her nose with the scent of apples. Turning up the water, the spray beat down into her muscles, realizing she'd left her soap in the guest room. With a curse, she looked around the shower and grabbed the only bar of soap she could find. Grateful that it only smelled clean and not manly, she lathered it between her slender fingers.

The water was barely tepid by the time she was drying off with a large towel that hung next to the sink. Pulling on her clean clothes, she brushed her teeth thoroughly before plucking the towel back up and opening the door, furiously scrubbing it over her dripping hair. She tossed the towel into the wicker hamper and gathered her hair back to keep it from soaking through the front of her shirt.

Moving past the living room, she glanced out the window and saw that the sun was starting to rise. She tilted her head, listening, but detected no stirring in Lassiter's room or in the kitchen. Somewhat relieved, she stepped through to the sink, slipping her fingers through the handle of the coffee pot and sliding it under the tap. Pressing the button, she waited for the coffee to brew by crossing to the fridge and hunting for something to satisfy the rumbling in her stomach.

"You'd think a cop would keep some kind of fruit," she mumbled, searching the cool contents for a sign of bright, delicious red or green.

Empty-handed, she straightened and reconsidered her options. Going with her gut, she pulled out the egg carton and set it on the counter, along with butter and a packet of bacon. Checking the coffee, she then knelt down to check the lower cabinets. After a few minutes searching, her hand emerged triumphantly gripping the handle of a frying pan. Grinning, she busied herself as she waited for the dark brew of divinity.

The smell of scrambled eggs and cooking bacon filled the kitchen, making her mouth water. The coffee was ready before the food, so she made two cups, remembering that he was drinking his black at the moment. By the time she turned around again, the eggs were a fluffy yellow and she scooped them out between two plates she found on another shelf.

"What's that smell?"

Felicity looked up to see Lassiter entering the kitchen in a prison t-shirt and still in his pajama bottoms. She gestured to the twin steaming mugs behind her. Feeling relaxed, she eyed him a moment as he moved to take his cup.

"Nice bottoms, Lassie," she remarked, her lips twitching as the tips of his ears turned pink.

"Thanks," he muttered, sipping at the hot liquid before letting out a sigh, "Not bad."

"I live to serve," she quipped, setting the bacon on a paper towel to drain before she put the crisp strips on the plates next to the eggs.

Felicity held out a plate to him, which he took with an appreciative hum.

"I couldn't find the forks."

"Second drawer."

"Ah, the only one I didn't look in," she observed dryly.

When she turned around again, he was sniffing the plate with a skeptical look.

"I didn't mix in lizard guts or calf brains...or poison."

Lassiter snorted at her and she shook her head. Stabbing her fork into the eggs, she speared some of it, along with a piece of bacon and took a bite as she stood at the counter. Her brow arched as he looked at her.

"Satisfied?"

He just grunted, taking his coffee and his breakfast to the table, sliding files over with his elbow to make room. Felicity followed him, watching with curiosity as he ate the first bite. His brows rose in surprise, then obvious pleasure.

"That's pretty good, Sawyer."

"Nice to know I'm up from adequate," she replied with a crooked smile.

Neither of them mentioned the tense exchange in the hallway and Felicity was content to pretend it'd never happened.

"I wondered if I'd get barked at for dipping into your fridge."

He paused lifting his coffee to his lips.

"_Barked_ at?" he asked with a scowl.

She nodded as she scooped more eggs onto her fork.

"Yeah. Nickname Lassie, low, growly voice, tendency to snap at people, otherwise known as barking?"

He didn't even look slightly amused and she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee and pulling the file she'd been looking over before she'd fallen asleep. It was the same one that she'd been studying before her unwilling departure from the station.

"Why?" she murmured, her thumb brushing across the boy's photo as a tinge of sadness echoed somewhere deep in her being.

"Why what?"

Felicity glanced up at his question, finding him looking at her curiously and munching on a piece of bacon. With a sigh, she slid the file towards him.

"This case, this...little boy, Mason Addison. He's been missing for nearly a month. I keep coming back to him. It's like something is tugging at my gut, trying-trying to tell me something."

She rubbed her index finger in a slow circle against the warm ceramic mug, her eyes unfocused as she replayed the details in her mind. His 'hmm' as he took another swallow of coffee brought her attention back to him as he lifted up the file to get a better look.

"Nice looking kid. Nice house too."

He handed her back the file, but something he said tickled at her memory. Her eyes widened.

"Wait a minute! Nice house?"

Setting her mug down hurriedly, she turned the file around, her gaze searching the pages. Then she pointed, holding it out to show him.

"Look, right there! Look at the address."

Lassiter tilted his head, blue eyes narrowing before lighting up intensely, the pieces clicking into place.

"That's where the Thompson's lived."

She nodded vigorously, her body almost vibrating with excitement.

"We've got to get over there, Lassie."

She'd have bolted down the hall if he hadn't stood up as she passed, long fingers closing insistently around her wrist to keep her still.

"Hold it right there, Sawyer. You're not going anywhere, not with the killer still out there waiting for you to show up. Not to mention that the Chief took you off the case."

Jerking her hand from his, she looked up at him with a glare.

"And I suppose that you're just going to let someone else take point when we've got this kind of lead?"

His head tilted, eyes narrowing again. Then he nodded, pursing his lips.

"Alright, you've got a point, let's go, but," he pointed his finger at her nose, "You're not to take a step without clearing it with me, got it?"

"Fine, Lassie, we have a deal. Now can we get going?" her words were spilling hurriedly past her lips, nearly bouncing in her urgency.

When he nodded, she took off like a shot for the guest room. She only changed pants however, pulling on a pair of jeans and sneakers and ran a brush through her thick curls. She was in such a hurry that she skidded into the hall with a wince, hoping like hell that Lassiter hadn't heard it, or noticed the tiny scuff mark she'd left.

"C'mon, Lassie, let's go!" she called out, grabbing the notepad that she'd been using and stuffing it in her shoulder bag.

He came out of his room in a gray suit and light blue shirt. He blinked when he looked at her.

"You're just gonna wear that? It isn't very professional."

Felicity glared at him as she tossed him his keys from off the table next to the door.

"We can debate that in the car, let's _go_."

* * *

During the ride out to the neighborhood, Lassiter called Juliet to bring her up to speed. She must have said something about meeting him out there, because he mentioned that he had Felicity with him and that he needed her to follow up on a different lead.

"What lead?" she asked when he'd hung up.

"We're still looking into everyone the victims knew. Associates, friends, coworkers, anybody that can give us an idea about their movements up to the time of their deaths," he glanced at her, his hands twisting on the wheel as he let out a breath, "Which I didn't tell you."

"Goes without saying, Lassie," she murmured, reading over her notes.

"You know, you really shouldn't even be in this car, Sawyer."

Felicity looked over at him.

"And yet, here I am," she replied with a half smile before adding, "Why don't we consider this as part of your security detail? You stated very clearly last night that I wasn't to leave your presence until we caught this guy and we are en route to doing so, ergo, no rules broken."

"You have a frighteningly devious sense of logic," he grumbled as he turned left.

"I'll take that as a compliment, and yes," she said, holding up a hand, "I realize it wasn't necessarily meant as one."

They pulled into the neighborhood and Lassiter parked on the street. Felicity got out, her hand gripping the car door as she looked around. It was still the same rows of matchbox houses and perfectly manicured lawns...still creepy, she decided, shutting the door. Putting her hands in her back pocket, she stood on the sidewalk, looking down the street where they'd entered.

"What's up?" he asked, coming up beside her and she tilted her head, biting her lip.

"I'm not sure," she replied, taking a few steps up the sidewalk before crouching down.

She could feel his eyes on her back as she put her palm against the concrete. Flashes whirled around her and her eyes drifted closed as she concentrated, narrowing her focus as she sifted through sights, smells, impressions...Heat was playing across her skin, a slight wind ruffling her hair as she watched a small boy clumsily pedal his way up the sidewalk. The scraping of the plastic tires was steady, rhythmic as he giggled to himself, until the sound, and the tricycle, began to slow.

She looked up, seeing the past as a film overlaying the present. A black pair of boots with messy laces loomed in her vision as her gaze traveled up.

"Dark clothes, long fingers with sharpened nails hung loosely from baggy sleeves, toothy smile, no features, no eyes, shaggy blonde hair," she recited dazedly as Lassiter stood behind her.

She shivered, the heat of that past muggy afternoon seeping away as cold crept over her skin like encroaching frost. There was a crunch as the boots stepped forward, then blackness.

Felicity stood, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"The same guy that killed the Thompsons took Mason...the same guy that broke into my house."

"Get anything else?"

She shook her head.

"You heard everything I know. Keep in mind that it was a little skewed. I was seeing what Mason saw."

Lassiter made a low sound next to her and she turned to look at him, her hands back in her pockets as he crossed his arms.

"Right, and that was terribly helpful."

"It's all I've got, Lassie, take it or leave it."

"I'm not sure I'm gonna take it, Sawyer. It's a lead, but it's nothing you can arrest anyone on."

Felicity threw her hands up, fixing to retort, when something else occurred to her. Turning her back to him, she strode up until she believed she was standing right where _he _had been. Kneeling down, she took a steadying breath and pressed her fingers downward. The iciness was like a punch in the gut. Jerking upright, she shook her hand, numb except for a biting pain in the very tips, which had turned an ugly shade of blue.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Stumbling back, she hissed when she tried to make a fist, a searing agony ripping through the tendons.

"Goddammit!" she bit her lip so hard she could taste blood.

Then a larger hand was on her shoulder, turning her around.

"What the hell, Sawyer...that's frostbite! How the _hell _do you get frostbite in eighty degree weather?"

She didn't answer, the warmth of his hand taking hers causing a burning ache and making her clench her teeth. More gently than she'd have thought him capable of, he touched her fingers, making them uncurl so that he could inspect them.

"Sawyer, this is bad, you need medical attention right now-"

But she was shaking her head again.

"Nevermind, Lassie, I know whe-"

"_Will _you shut it, Sawyer, you're gonna lose these if you don't-"

"Carlton!" His head snapped up in surprise and she met his gaze determinedly, "I know where he took Mason."

His jaw tightened before he took her by the elbow and led her to the car before turning to her and pointing at her. She really was going to have to break him of that habit.

"Fine, but we're going to the hospital and you're going to stay there until you aren't about to lose digits."

"I won't lose any digits, Lassie, it isn't frostbite," she said when they'd both gotten in the car.

He looked at her hard.

"Sawyer, I'm not an expert, but I can tell frostbite."

Letting out a breath, she held out her hand towards him as her feeling began to return, along with their natural color. Lassiter breathed out a curse.

"What the _hell _is going on, Sawyer?"


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **_**Classes are starting tomorrow morning, so my chapter updates might go down to one a day since my writing binge is going to be cut short. Anyhoo, as always, please read, review, and enjoy!**

**P.S. - Shout-out to the awesome GracefulWolvesInTheNight for the constant encouragement and support! *Hugs***

**Disclaimer: Honest, I own nothing, though the gremlin and I dearly love _Psych _ and a certain blue eyed detective with an awesome growly, sexy voice. ;)**

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me," Lassiter muttered as he drove, Felicity steadily massaging her hand.

"It was a warning, Lassie, that's all. An exceptionally effective warning," she admitted, rubbing her fingers to increase the circulation.

"Yeah, well, if I hadn't seen it-"

"I know, I'm not sure I'd have believed it if I hadn't felt it," Felicity replied bitterly.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the ER?"

With a sigh, she put her hand in her lap, ignoring the painful tingling running through her veins and gave him a mildly irritated look.

"Would anything I said convince you that I didn't? Please, Lassie, take my word for it."

They were quiet for a while and it gave her time to think. She was telling the truth, the 'frostbite' had been a warning, but a warning of what was the question. Felicity doubted it was because she was getting too close to the truth. He wanted her to find the truth, because it would put her squarely where he wanted her. It was frustrating that she didn't have a clue where that was either. Lassiter was right, though; this kind of injury just didn't happen, which led her to a conclusion that she knew he wasn't going to want to hear. For the moment, she kept her considerations to herself.

Trees hung over the road like a living roof, sunlight peeping through in rare places through the leaves. The highway wound up a steep incline as Lassiter expertly navigated the tight turns.

"If this lead pans out, how are you going to give a report to the Chief?" she asked finally, worrying at the fresh wound on her lip.

"I follow hunches once in a while," he replied and she tilted her head away from him with a skeptical glance.

"Yeah, probably every time the global mouse population makes a space migration to get cheese from the moon."

"Very funny."

"I thought it was hysterical myself," she waited a moment before adding, "Well?"

"I'll think of something alright? This has to actually lead somewhere."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He slowed down as they reached the top of the hill, pulling off the road and onto the small gravel space just in front of an iron gate. Felicity looked out the window with a sinking feeling.

They were back at that same damned church.

She turned her head back to look over at Lassiter, who was staring out the windshield, his jaw clenched. He shoved the gearshift into park and turned off the ignition.

"I don't like it, Sawyer."

"Me neither, Lassie," she murmured, her eyes drawn back to the church, her grip on the door handle tightening, "I'd get out with your gun drawn if I were you."

With that, she opened the door and stepped out. As soon as the sole of her sneaker touched ground with a crunch, she froze. Her gaze was locked on the treeline at the back of the graveyard. A dark shape was moving through the foliage, darting between the trees. Fear was a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. When she blinked, however, it was gone.

"What is it, Sawyer?" Lassiter's voice came from right beside her, nearly making her jump.

She turned to look at him, seeing his gaze roving over the area where she'd been staring. Shaking her head, she closed the door firmly behind her.

"Nothing, Lassie. C'mon."

She started off on the brick walk towards the church, ignoring the chill that started at the base of her spine. Lassiter's long legs had him beside her before she'd gotten a third of the way. Letting him take the lead, she crossed her arms as goosebumps erupted across her body. Her hands slowly rubbed up her arms when they neared the doors, Lassiter cocking his gun. He looked down at her as she stopped near him, the top of her head barely reaching past his shoulder.

"You packin'?"

She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her Tomcat .32, checking the mag before closing it with a snap. The metal was comforting against her palms as she looked up at the detective with a small smile.

"You told me to bring my guns, remember?"

That unfamiliar look flashed through his eyes again, but it was so quick she barely had time to register that it'd been there at all. Then he was nodding at her, his lips set in a thin line.

"Alright. You've seen me do this with O'Hara. Stay behind me, watch my back. Sawyer," the way he said her name made her ears perk up and she met her gaze steadily, "I'm trusting you here."

"Duly noted," she replied evenly.

"On the count of three. One, two, three!"

He moved, grabbing the door and throwing it open before darting into the gloom, Felicity on his heels. He aimed right while she covered left. It was difficult to see after being in the bright sunlight, but shapes appeared in the dimness. Thankfully, it was nothing but pews, candelabras, and dust. Holstering his weapons, Lassiter straightened from his braced position and she followed suit, clicking on the safety and stowing her pistol back in its hiding place in her bag.

She looked around warily, her hands held out from her as she moved towards the left side of the church. Brushing her hand against the wall, she caught flashes of a red shirt, frightened brown eyes, and that damnable cold. She stopped and turned back towards Lassiter, who was watching her and the door.

"He brought Mason here. Recently, because nothing in the connection was here the other day."

"So where's the boy now?"

Felicity was silent, unease and uncertainty keeping her quiet. She could sense that the child wasn't here now and neither, thankfully, was his body. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been led back here...

Her foot scraped against something hollow and she looked down, her blood losing all semblance of warmth. She knelt down, running her fingers against black plastic, sensing an old joy mingling with a recent, powerful jolt of terror.

"Lassie, come here," she called out, listening as his footsteps echoed dully in the once sacred chapel.

He tugged at his slacks before he crouched next to her, his brows drawing together as he seemed to puzzle over the object beneath her hand.

"What's a kid's bike wheel doing...oh, Christ," he scrubbed a hand over his face before blue eyes raised to stare into somber grey ones, "The boy disappeared riding his trike up the street. Are you trying to tell me what I think you are?"

Felicity shook her head helplessly.

"I don't know, Lassie. The boy was terrified, and so unbelievably cold, but I can't figure out if he's-"

She couldn't bring herself to say it. Hanging her head, Felicity put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up, Lassiter mirroring the action. He braced his hands on his hips as he looked around for a minute before running a hand through his hair.

"So where do we go from here?"

"I don't know...yet," she said quietly, continuing towards the far left side of the building.

The cold was stronger here, making her wonder if he'd been here since they were. The thought made her more apprehensive. It was a dark alcove, a pointed archway curving over it, possibly where a stature or holy icon had been placed. She looked at the floor, noticing that the layers of dirt and dust was less thick. Willing to try something different, she gestured to Lassiter without turning around. He moved to stand beside her and she grabbed his hand.

"Hold onto me for a minute," she directed him, ignoring his bristling at her command by putting her hand against the wall, praying that the barriers she kept in place would hold.

The cold was so intense that she hissed in a breath between clenched teeth, her exhale actually visible to the naked eye. Fear, panic, and a strange sense of loss rushed through her, leaving her feeling off balance, the emotions disappearing as quickly as they'd manifested. Her hand unconsciously squeezed Lassiter's as she was bombarded with images, many of them spinning past her mind's eye so fast that she couldn't make any sense of them.

Then the overpowering scent of blood was filling her nose, making her gag. Her vision was clouded with crimson, a darker, almost black liquid dripping over the red as an unearthly voice spoke in her ear, a voice that had begun to haunt her nightmares, would probably always haunt them.

_So you're starting to understand_, the whisper slithered through her mind, leaving her wondering if she actually heard it or if it was a talon raking across her consciousness from the past, _But have you acted fast enough?_

The question was an acrid stinging in her brain, making her almost cry out as it seared through every mental shield she had, thrusting into the very core of her being.

_Flashes of a boy, torn to pieces as she dashed to reach him started to overwhelm her; pictures playing over and over of black hands choking Mac as she watched. The funeral parlor where she'd bid her grandfather goodbye rushed towards her, the dark blue coffin lid tossed open and clawed hands reached for her as dead grey eyes stared at her from a face that was more demon than human. Lassiter staring at her with accusing eyes as he held the glock to his head and pulled the trigger. _

Warmth, a welcome, blessed warmth suddenly radiated from her hand, traveling up her arm and bringing her back from the brink, the visions evaporating like smoke. She sagged, darkness flitting at the edges of her sight. Exhausted by the hellish connection, her head fell weakly forward as she was turned in a strong pair of arms, her forehead bumping painlessly into something solid. She could still smell the blood, taste the copper like it coated her tongue.

"Sawyer? Sawyer? C'mon, don't you lose it on me now," a voice was talking in her ear, the low growling quality reaching past the fog of horror.

"L-Lassie," she gasped out, realizing at that moment that her cheek was wet, and was also dampening his shirt as he held her against his chest as her hands clutched at the back of his jacket so tightly it hurt.

"I'm here, Flick, I'm here, just stay with me, alright?"

She could feel concern coming from him as she breathed in the scent of cinnamon, the warmth of his body and his emotions chasing away the infernal cobwebs that still clung to her. His fingers rubbed at her back in soothing circles, an automatic motion that she sensed was his first instinct. His touch let her know that he wanted to first and foremost comfort her, and also to find out what the hell had scared her witless. He was aware of her body against him, on some level enjoying feeling her molded to him, but also confused and disquieted as to what had caused such a bad reaction in her. All of it combined in a wave of reassurance that he was solid and real and most definitely not going anywhere. It grounded her.

Stifling a sob, she reluctantly lifted her head and eased herself back to look up at him.

"I'm alright...I'm alright...it was just-" He shook his head at her and she stopped, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. She gave him a half smile, although it was a little watery, "Can we-can we get the hell out of this place? I, uh, could really use a shot."

"You and me both, Sawyer," he muttered, glancing around before settling on her eyes searchingly, "Can you keep it together long enough to at least get to the car?"

She scoffed at him, stepping fully back, though his hand lingered on her arm for a moment longer before letting go.

"Give me a little credit, Lassie," she joked half-heartedly, retreating into bravado as they started towards the door.

The sunlight felt so good on her face Felicity almost started to cry again, this time in relief. She fought to keep her gait as relaxed as possible as they walked to the car.

As they she sat down in the passenger's seat and Lassiter put the car in drive, she looked once more towards the trees, unable to shake the feeling that something was looking back.

* * *

"Sawyer, for the_ absolute_ last time, you have got to let me take you to the station."

They were parked in the lot of a tiny strip mall, a bag of apples and two cups of coffee between them. As soon as the church was out of sight, she'd asked him to take her to the closest place that sold the fruit he could find. She'd stopped him, however, emphatic that he only buy green apples; she didn't think she was going to be able to eat any red ones for a while.

"Lassie, I can't. If we go to the station, the Chief is going to know that I helped you investigate a lead, putting us both in hot water."

"It's unethical to just sit on information, Sawyer," he argued picking up an apple and taking a bite.

"And what solid information do we have, Lassie? I mean, the fact that you believe me lends what I saw credibility, but the connection between the Thompsons' murders and Mason's abduction are circumstantial at best and flimsy at worst."

He didn't reply at first, shaking his head lightly as his fingers tapped against the steering wheel.

"Alright, alright, you've got a point, but no one can say anything if we happen to link one case to another, especially one assumed to be not even remotely connected to the Thompson murders. And I didn't say I believed you."

She rolled her eyes at his metaphorical stubborn heel digging, but nodded anyway, chewing on the tart flesh of the apple thoughtfully, the cool flavor a balm.

"I'll concede to that. But..." she debated with herself, unsure if she wanted to admit just how much today had rattled her.

If she hadn't been with Lassiter the entire time, seen how he'd reacted with her own eyes, she'd have been certain he'd have mocked her for nearly losing it at the church. As it was, she felt like she could probably honest enough that she really, really did not want to go anywhere near the precinct until she had a better handle on herself. She glanced over at him as he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

Felicity swallowed, conflicting emotions precariously balanced.

He'd been there right there, his hand grasping hers as she dove head first into stuff nightmares were woven from. He'd made her feel safe, chasing away the fear that'd threatened to consume her in a place so dark she couldn't have fathomed the exit. On the other hand, he was the first one to call her on the chink that had shown in her armor. What she'd felt through their connection though...it was best not to go there. That direction was littered with more than one pitfall.

Felicity's thoughts turned down a different path. She hadn't told him anything about what she'd seen, other than to tell him that she wasn't certain what it all meant.

Letting out a heavy breath, she shifted her gaze to the windshield, watching traffic.

"Fine," she said quietly.

When he didn't respond, she looked back at him, wishing he'd take off the sunglasses so she could get some idea about what he was thinking. Lassiter must have felt her gaze, because he turned to regard her, taking another bite out of his apple. He gestured towards her with it.

"I can see why you like these."

She chuckled, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

"They're good, aren't they?"

He made a quiet sound of agreement, his lips curving into a wry smirk.

"Kinda remind me of you."

She snorted.

"Considering that I'm nearly always eating one, I'm not surprised."

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of being tart, kinda tough, never sure when you've made it to the center till you're teeth crack."

She shrugged, the corners of her lips twitching.

"Better than being a peach."

He gave her a questioning look before his smirk turned into a smile.

"I'm a peach, huh?"

"Oh, no, you most definitely resemble an orange more than a peach. I was just saying that I like being an apple better."

Now Lassiter just looked offended.

"An orange, really?"

She smiled for the first time since they'd left the church, a wickedly knowing smile that could only be worn when you knew you had the pocket aces.

"Oh, yes. Peel away the outer skin and you find something sweet enough to warrant the work, with just enough bite to make your lips tingle."

The look on his face was priceless, an expression somewhere between amused, flattered, and horrified. The pink tinge to his ears was just the icing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: A necessary evil... :)**

* * *

Lassiter closed the door as soon as she stepped through, locking it as she wearily dropped her bag onto the table. He moved to check the condo over, his paranoia clearly racheted up to new heights after what they'd gone through today. Felicity kicked off her shoes with a sigh, bracing her hand against the table to rub at her tired feet before padding to the kitchen. As badly as she wanted a drink, she thought it was probably best to be clear-headed for the night she had ahead of her. She was going to be spending most of it hunched over a fresh page in her notepad trying to make heads or tails of the visions she'd had in the church.

God, she just really didn't want to think about it.

Their stint at the station had been blessedly short, sweet, and to the point. Juliet had met them near the entrance and they had quickly filled her in. She'd agreed to keep the information low key until they had a more solid lead. She'd also volunteered to keep tracking down the Thomspons' associates to see if there were any other connections present between them and the Addison family.

Putting the remaining apples he'd picked up in the fridge, she returned to the living room and collapsed on the couch. She curled her legs up next to her, staring at the blank screen as she propped her cheek against her fist. She was still that way fifteen minutes later when he emerged from his sweep.

"All clear."

Her eyes were still gazing dully at the black television.

"Good to know," she mumbled, straddling the line between sinking into memory and drifting in an unfocused trance.

Lassiter moved behind her and she was dimly aware of the rustling of his jacket as he shrugged it off to drape over the back of a chair. Then there was a creak of leather as he took off his shoulder harness, unsnapping the holster of his gun. He moved past her towards his room, gun in hand. When he came back after putting the glock away, her eyes were glazed.

He walked into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. She didn't look up when he sat down next to her on the couch, setting the glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of them.

"Thanks, Lassie," she said quietly as he leaned his forearms on his thighs, watching her carefully.

"Snap out of it, Sawyer, you're starting to look like a vegetable."

Felicity did look at him then, slowly turning her head. Her fingers dragged against her scalp as her palm cupped the back of her neck. She let out breath, her hand falling onto the arm of the couch as she rolled her neck, her eyes closing.

"I feel like a zucchini that some bastard turned into stir fry," she groaned before reaching for the glass of water, taking a sip and adding, "You hungry?"

Lassiter leaned back into the cushions with a low rumbling sound, his arms stretching out to drape over the back of the couch.

"I could eat."

She nodded and unfolded herself from the couch, heading for the kitchen.

"What have you got in the freezer?" she asked over her shoulder, glancing back to see him letting his head fall back, his eyes closed.

"I have no idea," he called after her as she opened the icebox and peered inside.

She picked out two T.V. dinners and set them on the counter, glancing over the instructions as she set the microwave.

"Instant alfredo suit you?" she lifted her voice to ask.

"I don't care at this point, Sawyer," came the bellowed reply.

Shrugging, she popped the first one in, prepping the second. Within eight minutes, both were warm and smelling good enough to make her stomach speak up, reminding her that she'd hadn't eaten anything other than an apple since breakfast. She carried the steaming plate to the living room and set it on the coffee table for him, figuring he probably didn't want to move from the couch just yet.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes snapping open when she came close and his head lifting.

He sat up and picked up his fork. She set her own plate on the other side of him, then went back in the kitchen to refill her glass and fix one for Lassiter. Figuring that he might want one, she made a whiskey on the rocks and brought it to him. His fingers brushed hers as he accepted it from her offered hand, taking a long sip.

"Ah. I needed that."

She smiled quietly as she curled back on the other end of the couch, pulling her tray into her lap. The first bite was like cheesy, gooey heaven and she let out a soft moan.

"Sweet skies over Dublin, that's good," she said, closing her eyes as she savored the explosion of flavor on her tongue.

When she opened her eyes again, Lassiter was staring at her with a mildly amused expression. She swallowed, grey eyes darting away from his sheepishly.

"It's, um, it's a something my granddad used to say," she muttered, scooping more noodles in the hopes that nothing else would escape her mouth.

"The preacher?"

Felicity looked up, blinking in surprise before a small smile curved her lips.

"Very good, Detective."

He shrugged, but she thought she saw a self-satisfied gleam in his eye when he took another sip of his liquor.

"Irish, huh?" he asked when he'd set his drink down.

She nodded, then wiped her thumb across her chin when the sauce dripped.

"Half Irish, my dad's people were English," she looked over at him, "You?"

"English."

They ate in silence after that. Felicity scraped the bottom of the tray for the last dregs of cheese. With a contented sigh, she stood and stretched, putting aside her tray to toss in the trash in a bit. Moving around the couch, she dug in the bag and grabbed a slender red pack of gum, a pen, and her notepad before sinking back into the leather cushions. As she settled herself back into her corner of the sofa, Lassiter plopped his empty tray on the coffee table and leaned back. He glanced over towards her as she started scribbling across the yellow paper.

"What're you doing?"

She unwrapped a piece of gum and started chewing before offering him one.

"Working. Gum?"

"What flavor?"

"Big Red," when he didn't reply, she looked up and noted his skeptical expression, "What? You're rubbing off on me."

He shook his head and took the piece, then reached towards the side table next to him, picking up a remote. Pressing the power button, the DVD player made a whirling noise as the screen flickered. A desert was the first image and Felicity smiled as she glanced up at it.

"Good, a Western."

Lassiter looked over at her as he propped his fist against his temple, his elbow against the back of the couch.

"You like 'em?"

She nodded with a frown, barely skimming her memories of the church as she made notes, taking a sip of her water.

"I find they help me concentrate. John Wayne works best, but Clint Eastwood works in a pinch."

"Favorite?"

"With the Duke? Couldn't make that kind of choice. Eastwood?" she paused a moment to consider, "Not even a Western. Ever seen _Kelley's Heroes_?"

"_Heartbreak Ridge_ is a better movie," he replied dismissively.

"Fair enough, but _Kelley's Heroes_ makes me laugh and that plays more into my decision than anything else. Besides," she added with a grin, "How can you say no to watching a tiger tank get taken out by being shot in the ass?"

He chuckled and her grin widened before she put her attention back on her notepad, tapping her pen against the paper idly as she let her thoughts drift. The intensity of the visions she'd experienced leapt to the forefront of her mind, but with effort she held it back. She couldn't succumb to the emotions before she figured out exactly what it had been that she'd seen.

"Sawyer," she turned to see him giving her a hard look. Then he held out his hand, "C'mon, put it away for now. Go at it with fresh eyes in the morning."

Reluctantly, she handed the pad to him and he tossed it on the coffee table. Shifting, she leaned her elbow next to his on the back of the couch, gravity leaning her body towards him as she resettled, taking out her gum and putting it back in the wrapper, folded into her empty dinner tray. Her gaze fixed on the screen, watching as the camera zoomed in on two tiny dots that turned out to be riders. For a while, the movie held her attention, but before she knew it, her eyelids were beginning to droop.

With a small mumble, her eyes drifted closed, just for a minute. Sleep was creeping at the edge of her conscious, her body demanding that she let it recover from what it'd been through that day. Unconsciously, she gravitated towards the warmth she could sense nearby, snuggling her nose into a blanket that smelled amazing, the soft fabric caressing her cheek. The sounds of the film seemed to come from far away, a soothing reminder that she was in a safe place, somewhere she could just let her mind go, knowing the nightmares couldn't touch her as long as she stayed right where she was.

She shifted again, her hand moving from where it had wrapped around her middle to smooth the blanket between her fingers. Then the blanket rumbled against her, making a noise that blankets...weren't supposed to make. Drowsily, she opened her eyes to find Lassiter staring down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement, awkwardness, and something else she couldn't have named unless she'd been touching him, a longing for the exact kind of contact they had.

"Hey, Lassie," she said huskily, her voice languid.

That was when she realized the blanket she'd been cuddling with was the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department and somehow she'd managed to wriggle her way under his arm and into his chest.

"Comfortable over there, Sawyer?"

Matter of fact, she thought listlessly, she was actually very comfortable where she was. Under the quiet sarcasm, his voice held a note she hadn't heard before. It warmed her in a way that she didn't expect. Maybe it was that warmth, or maybe it was just that her body knew what it needed more than she did.

Tilting her head, she gazed up into the baby blue irises, inching closer till her nose bumped his gently. He didn't move, although she could feel him tense up, a myriad of emotions rolling through him that she could sense as her gaze flicked between his lips and his eyes.

"Sawyer," he began quietly, "you've had one helluva day. You're...feeling vulnerable and—"

"Carlton, if feeling vulnerable was the reason, I'd have jumped you the first night," she murmured softly, becoming very awake as she watched his eyes darken to an incredible shade of cerulean.

Her heart was hammering against her chest and a flush crept into her cheeks when those incredibly blue eyes zeroed in on where the tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her parted lips. She shifted half an inch closer, the heat from his body, combined with the want she could see clear in his eyes when they raised to bore into hers, made her grateful that she wasn't standing, certain that her knees wouldn't have been able to support her right then.

"Felicity," he warned in a low voice, making her breath catch.

God, she knew he was right. She _was _feeling vulnerable, and frightened, and desperately in need of some human contact to chase away those emotions. If she pushed this, he'd think he was taking advantage of her and he wouldn't be all that wrong. It was comfort she was looking for, in any measure she could find, his arms being the most convenient, right? Then why did that look make her feel too warm, the desire to feel his body over hers nearly overpowering? Was this susceptibility or something else?

One way to find out.

She looked up at him with a brief, lazy smile before she touched her lips to his. It was soft, sweet, as light as the touch of a butterfly wing, before she pulled back to gauge his reaction.

Without waiting for a second invitation, Lassiter captured her lips with his, every concern she had almost completely drowned out by the sensation of his mouth pressing against her own. His lips were warm, pliant over hers. This wasn't a gentle, hesitant exploration, but it wasn't greedy or hurried either. It was as if Lassiter felt like he needed to brand her, but in the most thorough, time-consuming way possible; like he knew exactly what she needed without her ever having to say it. His hands buried themselves in her hair, tilting her head just a little further back so that he could gain better access. Her more slender fingers slid up his chest, humming her approval as she was suddenly shifted until she was sitting across his lap. The same electric, whirlwind sensation of energy she'd gotten the first day they'd met was zinging through her blood, making her heart pound at an alarming rate.

He pulled back slightly for air, their breath mingling and he dove back down, seemingly unable to get enough. His hands roved down to her shoulders, following the lines of her upper arms until his questing fingertips found her waist. Lassiter wrapped his arms around the trim, feminine curve, murmuring appreciatively against her lips. He flattened his palms against the curve of her spine, skimming them upwards and bringing her closer against his chest. Her arms lifted higher from where they'd been resting on his biceps to grip his shoulders. When her lips parted beneath his, the kiss deepened unexpectedly and a tiny moan escaped her throat. Possessively, he nipped at her bottom lip lightly with his teeth and she let out another sound, this one breathy and he responded with a growl.

She pressed closer to him, as if that were even possible, her arms moving to curl around his neck, her fingertips brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. Her touch caused his lean body to shiver against her, igniting sparks in her blood stream and sending it rushing through her veins. Felicity shifted in his lap, making him groan as a jolt of pure heat rocketed through her body. Gently, Felicity sipped at his lower lip, her teeth barely grazing it and he let out another low groan against her mouth, the sound sending another spark of want through her body. She shivered against him when his hands began to slowly roam over her back and she arched into his touch.

When they parted, he looked down at her swollen, slightly red lips and she could sense that he felt satisfaction. They were both breathing hard and she could feel his heart hammering as she was pressed against him, not even room for air to pass between them. He swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers, but then her fingers wound their way through the salt-and-pepper strands of his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers, unwilling to allow either of them to think it through.

Warmth pooled low in her belly as his hands slid up the curves of her torso to wind themselves in the dark curls of her hair again, holding her fast; like she had any intentions of going anywhere. Her fingertips traveled down to brush against the shell of his ears, his neck, to dig into his shoulders again as he plundered her mouth before wrapping her arms around his neck. God, he tasted _good_, like cinnamon and heat and something else that made her stomach flutter. She could feel his hands traveling again, towards the hem of her t-shirt, and the desire that she could sense through his touch and her ability made her arch her back again with a moan. With her eyes closed, the feelings only intensified, heightening her arousal until it was an almost unbearable ache.

Lassiter lifted his head, his mouth still pressed against hers lightly, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to part from her just yet. His breath was a gentle tickle against her lips, her fingers moving from his hair to stroke softly against the skin of his cheek.

She could feel every emotion he was experiencing; a desire that matched her own, a wistfulness to just give in, frustration that it wasn't that simple, resignation that he had to be honorable about this, no matter what his body was telling him to do.

"Felicity," he murmured, the hum of his voice against her lips sending a bolt of warmth straight down her body, "This—"

She silenced him by pressing her mouth firmly against his, pulling back before it could spin out of control again.

"I know," she whispered, tucking the memory of how he felt against her into the farthest part of her memory. She looked up at him, grey eyes still a little unfocused. "But I _won't _pretend it didn't happen."

He stared down at her for a long moment, before slowly nodding, his hold on her loosening. She moved from him, already missing the warm comfort of his body, but she just stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

"Good night, Detective," she said quietly, shoring up the distance with formality, knowing it would help them both.

"Good night, Sawyer," he muttered as she turned and she could feel those intense eyes on her back as she strode to her borrowed room.

She entered the guest room, shutting the door behind her. She lifted a hand over her lips, still able to the sensation of his mouth against hers. And _that_ had just been kissing?

It was going to be such a long night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, as you all know. :)**

* * *

Felicity stood in front of the sink as she brushed her teeth, free hand braced on the cool porcelain. She was currently staring long and hard into her own eyes, trying like hell to figure out what on God's green earth had possessed her last night.

She closed her eyes with a soft groan, rinsing the brush under the tap and putting it in Lassiter's toothbrush cup without really thinking about it. Grabbing the towel she'd used to dry off with, she opened the bathroom door and strode down the hall, her hand scrubbing the fluffy fabric over her damp curls. Glancing around the living room, she was grateful that Lassiter was nowhere in sight. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing him just yet.

Last night, she'd been rocked clear down to her toes. The memory of his lips against hers had kept her awake long into the night, and from the occasional sounds that had drifted from across the hall, she hadn't been the only one.

Padding into the kitchen, her gaze firmly on the floor, she moved to the counter, settling the towel around her shoulders. She grumbled to herself as turned on the tap, her thoughts drifting to the energy that had compelled her to take the consulting job, the energy that had surrounded _him_. It hadn't been until he'd walked in that she'd felt fate stirring, demanding that she follow it's metaphysical tug. She mused now if that pull had been towards the man and not the place. Yes, she was almost certain that she was meant to be involved in this case, the signs, the tugs on her sixth sense too strong to believe otherwise. But the gusts of ethereal wind that brushed against her consciousness when he got close...it made her wonder.

As she went to put water in the coffee pot, she heard a voice behind her.

"You're up early, Sawyer."

Her cheeks were a bright shade of pink as she whirled around, wet strands flying. By simple serendipity, she held onto the coffee pot. Lassiter was leaning against the fridge in a dark suit and white shirt, the first couple of buttons still undone. Frankly, he looked good enough to—oh, she was so not going down that road.

Mumbling a greeting she spun on her heel back to the sink so she wouldn't be tempted. Tempted? Tempted to what? She'd needed contact last night, she could admit that...and the fact that she was somewhat attracted to him...and that had led to something she probably wouldn't have done if she'd been thinking straight. Or would she? Ah, dammit, the constant questioning was making her head hurt.

Then there was the promise she'd made that she wasn't going to pretend it hadn't happened. Where did that leave them? Anywhere? Stop it, Felicity, she scolded herself.

It was a promise she was keeping, at any rate, but it didn't mean that she wasn't embarrassed as all hell now that she'd had an entire night to think about it.

But she wasn't regretting it, a tiny voice reminded her. She promptly told said voice to shut it.

Sounds of movement behind her reached her ears as she put the pot in the machine to brew. When she turned, he was hunting around in the fridge. He straightened, two apples balanced in his palm. Her eyes traced over the long fingers before she realized what she was doing. Fighting back the damnable blushing, she hung her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. This was getting way out of hand. They'd kissed, it had been amazing (Stop it, Felicity!), and now she needed to just grow up and deal with it. Alright, good plan; now how are you going to do that?

Felicity turned to grab two mugs from the cabinet as he stepped towards the sink. Pulling them down, she set them on the counter. As she half-turned to get the sugar container, warm fingers suddenly covered hers, making her freeze and those stupid butterflies to erupt in her stomach. Get over it, girl, it's Lassie, not the _Footloose _version of Kevin Bacon; if it was, you'd be in trouble, that persistant little bastard muttered in the back of her mind.

"Flick," he said quietly, his voice close to her ear, his chest brushing her shoulder.

"Why is it you call me that when you're fixing to say something you really want me to pay attention to?" she asked with half-hearted sarcasm, her hair falling forward to cover her face.

"Because when I say it, you _do_ pay attention," she could hear the wry smile in his voice, "And you're deflecting."

"Guilty as charged."

Willing her cheeks to stop burning, she turned slightly to look at him again, forcing her eyes to hold his.

"You're guilty of a lot more than that," he replied in a low tone, making a shiver want to chase up her spine, "But that's not my point."

"Lassie, I don't think—" she started to protest, but he cut her off.

"Sawyer, what happened last night shouldn't have."

She blinked at him as his hand dropped from hers.

"So you're going to pretend it didn't?" she asked in a careful tone.

The look he gave her was a mix of exasperation and resignation, one hand resting on his hip as the other rubbed across his eyes.

"Look, Sawyer, you weren't thinking, and frankly, neither was I. It was a reaction to everything that happened yesterday and-"

This time she was the one who interrupted, by reaching up on her tiptoes and placing her lips against his in a hard kiss. She was not going to listen to his excuses. If he wanted to pretend, he could damn well try.

She took advantage of his surprise to dart her tongue out and stroke against his as her arms wove around his neck, pressing against him. It was like touching her lips to a live current, energy sparking between them as his startled grunt turned into a low rumble. His mouth molded to hers as his hands settled on her waist, moving in a slow, languid dance that actually made her toes curl. When she pulled back, it'd apparently had the desired effect, because he leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing as he took a deep breath through his nose.

"That was a dirty tactic," he muttered.

"That was hardly my dirtiest maneuver " she quipped a little breathlessly, making his lips curve in a smirk even as his ears turned pink.

"My point was," he continued, stepping back from her to lean a hip against the counter, "that what happened last night-"

She cut him off.

"You felt something last night," she said for him, watching his blue eyes widen as she continued, "You know why I did what I did, but your gut, that instinct you have that makes you such a good detective, is telling you that I felt something too. You don't have a clue why, and you don't want to jump into anything, because you, and your pessimistic view of the world, know how that kind of move works out."

"I am never going to get used to that," Lassiter said, his eyes still wide and his head moving slowly from side to side.

For reasons she couldn't quite fathom, the admittance rubbed her the wrong way.

"Of course not, that'd be accepting, God forbid," she retorted dryly.

"Oh, and that's not biting cynicism in your voice?" he asked acidly, before holding up his hands when she parted her lips to reply, "You know what, never mind. I didn't come in here to pick a fight with you."

"You mean you have another purpose in life?" she snapped. She knew that wasn't very fair, but she wasn't really concerned with the concept at that moment.

Scoffing, he glared at her.

"You clearly don't have anything better to do than to piss me off."

"How? By being one step ahead of you since this case started?"

She knew she'd hit below the belt on that one, especially when his eyes narrowed to slits.

"At least I don't need hoodoo rituals and blood sacrifices to 'make connections' in a case," he shot back, putting the last two words in air quotes.

"At least _I'm _not an overbearing, pompous jackass with a badge!" she snarled.

"And at least _I'm _not a domineering, three penny shrew who doesn't know when to keep her nose out of an investigation she has no business getting involved in!"

"No busine- the guy broke into _my _house, you thickheaded troglodyte!"

"Harpy!"

"Clod!"

"She-devil!"

"Numbskull!"

"Hellcat!"

Felicity held up her hands and took a deep breath.

"Look, we have a killer to catch and I don't have time for this."

When he just kept scowling at her, she out out a frustrated growl under her breath and turned, grabbed one of the apples he'd gotten out of the fridge and stomped back to the guest room to change. How had the morning gone to hell in a hand basket that fast? When she emerged ten minutes later, much calmer, though still fuming, she had shed her t-shirt and sweats and had donned a dark business skirt and jacket with a dark green button-down blouse. Lassiter was straightening his tie as she grabbed her bag and notepad.

You could have charged a cellphone between them, it was so tense.

"We're going to have to stop by my house at some point; I'm running out of clothes," she ground out.

Something flashed behind his eyes at her words. Then he nodded curtly, grabbing his keys from the table.

"Fine. Let's go."

* * *

The station was a hive of activity when they arrived, and Felicity made a beeline for Henry's desk. She had to get away from that contemptuous blockhead before she just shot him. Her expression must have been thunderous, because when he looked up, he immediately leaned back in his chair with his hands in front of him.

"Whoa, whoa, Flick, whatever you think I did, I didn't."

Slamming her notepad on his desk, she sat down with a sneer. Swiping at a stray curl that was trying to tickle her cheek, Felicity let out a breath. Not wanting to discuss it, she smoothed her skirt as she shifted in the chair.

"Don't worry about it, Henry. What have you got for me this morning?"

He gave her a look that clearly indicated she was going to tell him sooner or later, he handed her a slim file. Felicity swiped her fingertips across the grey surface, frowning.

"Missing persons. Female, dark hair, brown eyes, teacher, missing three days, reported missing by her boyfriend."

She opened the file then, glancing at the photo of a pretty young woman with long black hair and a bright smile, 'Hannah Kelley' typed neatly beneath the image. Then her gaze traveled to the actual report and she skimmed her hand over the typed page.

"Dark building...big, open space...warehouse? No, abandoned, dusty, rickety boards on the windows," her brows drew together as images swirled in her mind, then crystallized and her head snapped up, "Old high school building, bricked. She's in a classroom, with desks."

Henry was already typing in the information into the computer.

"There's a high school that shut down five years ago over on 21st. No funding. No one's bought the building."

Henry stood up and started firing off orders when Shawn and Gus walked in. Felicity waved them over.

"Hey, Flick, how's life in the doghouse?"

She gave Shawn an icy look.

"Not discussing it. Here, look at this."

Handing over the file, she waited for the two of them to glance over it. Gus was the first one to look up.

"You know where she is."

Felicity nodded.

"Yeah, abandoned high school building on 21st," her eyes lit up suddenly, "You guys wanna go? I can always use extra eyes."

Shawn arched a brow.

"You want to get there before Lassie? You looking to start something?"

Felicity rose from her chair, tossing her bag over a shoulder with a wry twist on her lips.

"It's a distinct possibility. You in or not?"

"Getting a one up on Lassie _and _pissing him off, are you kidding?"

She was already walking to the exit. Lassiter was going to be beyond pissed, but she really didn't care at this point. The small voice at the back of her mind was screaming that she was just being petty, but she argued it done as she walked down the station's steps; she had a lead and she wasn't going alone. If he had a problem, too damned bad.

It took about twenty minutes to get across town; they'd have gotten there sooner, but she quickly learned that Gus was a more than cautious driver. They pulled up to the tall, brick building. White paint was peeling around the window panes that were visible through the wooden boards, graffiti colorfully decorating both the school and the surrounding structures. A broad set of steps led to a covered landing and a set of oak double doors. Felicity turned towards Shawn as he exited the car next to her.

"Getting anything?"

"Other than a serious case of the creeps?"

It was answer enough as she firmly shut the Echo's door. Not waiting, she strode up the steps, but a hand on her arm stopped her, Gus's concerned face appearing at her shoulder.

"Felicity, why don't you let Shawn go first?"

"Gus, where are your manners? It's always ladies first."

She ignored both of them, almost sprinting up the steps. A sense of urgency was gathering around her, inquietude settling in her stomach and churning like a lead serpent. She reached for the door, but Gus beat her to it. It opened easily and they exchanged a glance as Shawn came up behind them.

"Since when does an abandoned building leave its doors open?"

Felicity didn't answer, striding through the doorway and into the black interior of the school. Doors lined a long corridor, the large concrete blocks that made up the hallway painted half white and half a dull blue. Many doors hung despairingly on their hinges, glass shards littering the floor. She looked back to see Gus and Shawn hovering near the sunlight. Her heels echoed on the exposed concrete floor as she turned.

"You guys comin' or what?"

The two of them looked at one another and she got the impression of an in-depth conversation happening at lightning speed between them before Shawn started walking towards her, his finger hovering near his eyebrow.

"I'm sensing that something was dragged in..." he moved past her, his other hand lifting as he strode straight towards an intersection of hallways, spinning slowly until he was pointing to the left, "this direction."

She followed him, hearing Gus mutter something under his breath before the sound of his sneakers against the floor reached her ears. Felicity came up beside Shawn, sneezing softly at the dust kicked up by their feet. Shawn looked at her with an amused expression.

"Hey, that was actually a pretty cute sneeze."

She arched a brow.

"Sneezes can be cute?"

"You know that's right," Gus answered, stepping to her left.

Shaking her head, she stepped to the corner of the hall they were standing in and the one Shawn pointed towards. On the floor were scuff marks, so she was certain that he was right. Placing her hand against the roughly painted wall, opening a connection.

_Blonde hair, shaggy, sharpened nails, large black boots, cold that pierced flesh and bone_.

"Aw, shit," she cursed, looking over her shoulder, "It's the same guy," she smacked her palm against the wall, anger rising in her chest as the sound echoed sharply through the building, "It's the same son of a _bitch_."

Felicity took off down the hall, her heart pounding, her hand still against the wall.

"Wait a minute, what guy? Flick!"

Flashes of images were guiding her as twin sets of sneakers pounded after her.

"The bastard that took Mason and killed the Thompsons," she called out, energy starting to swirl around her.

The smell of blood was getting heavier as she rounded another corner, her fingertips trailing across layers of dust. She lifted her hand as she stopped in the middle of the hallway, an icy chill crawling up her left arm. Dread was slithering up her spine as Gus and Shawn caught up with her.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Gus asked, lightly panting.

She didn't answer right away, her gaze focusing on the closed classroom door where the cold was coming from.

"Call Lassie," she murmured.

Gus tugged his phone from his hip pocket, his thumb tapping across the softly lit screen as Felicity carefully put her hands against the door. With a hiss, she snatched them back.

"It's just like that damned altar," she muttered, taking a deep breath and reaching for the doorknob.

Gus was talking to someone as she struggled with the door.

"Here, let me," Shawn reached past her and wrapped his hand around the knob and heaved.

The door gave with a groan, dust exploding around them, snaking down their throats and making them cough violently. They stepped back at the same time.

"God, reminds me of all those years cutting gym class by sneaking down to the school basement."

"Really?" she gasped as she tried to catch her breath, "'Cause it just reminds me of a health hazard."

"That too."

Her nose was itching so badly that she nearly sneezed again and she rubbed at it viciously to relieve the irritating sensation. When it blessedly stopped, she opened her watering eyes, blinking in relief. Shaking her head, she saw Shawn wasn't in much better shape.

"They're on the way," Gus announced, putting his phone away again and Felicity nodded.

"You two stay here a sec," she said, making a staying gesture with her hand.

She ignored the protesting, stepping through the newly unsealed classroom cautiously. Two steps into the dim room revealed a decaying blackboard and multiple desks in various stages of dilapidation. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that peeked through the slats covering the windows, revealing little more than she'd already discerned.

Her eyes had barely roved the room before she was struck with a blinding pain in the back of her skull. Crying out, she fell forward, concrete scrapping painfully her knees.

She heard someone call her name and a whoosh of air before everything faded.


	14. Chapter 14

**_A/N: _I really struggled with this chapter, guys, so I'd love some feedback on this one. As always, read and enjoy :)**

**Edited: Nearly 600 views, but only 9 reviews? C'mon, guys, can't I get just little love? Or constructive criticism? Maybe both? Pretty please?**

**Disclaimer: We've gone over this :P**

* * *

_It was a room with no corners._

_A coolness was tickling her neck as she tried to turn her head, stirring the dark ringlets that fell against her shoulder. Light played across the blackness of the room like the headlights of a turning car, illuminating pieces of a scene that were almost too bright for her eyes to look at. It was as if a clown had been given a set of paints and he had turned with a malicious kind of glee to splattering the walls with color; brightest green, dull reds, and oceans of blue sputtering and swirling together in those brief, excruciating flashes of light. _

_At the center, or what she assumed to be the center, was a raised dais, with a box set neatly with precise edges. She couldn't tell if it was wood or cardboard or stone and as she caught snatches of it in her vision, it seemed to be absorbing all the cotter colors present in the space, as if sucking them into a pitch void. _

_Suddenly aware that she was standing, she carefully took a step forward, a curiosity and a kind of unknowable dread drawing her towards the platform. The sound of her heel clacking against the hard surface beneath her was too loud, echoing in a seemingly endless loop that tore at her ears like curled claws. She covered her ears with a sob, but her eyes never left that box._

_It must not have had a lid because a small hand reached up, grasping at empty air. An arm extended it upwards, then bent at an odd angle as tiny fingers closed over the edge of the box. As the light strobed again, she could see that the fingernails were jagged, dirty. A crackling reached her ears as the hand's grip tightened. _

_Slowly, flesh began to appear. Like yellowed parchment, it hung from bone in crinkled flaps, bruises resembling ink blots. _

_And then she saw the face._

* * *

A throbbing ache was pulsing through her head as she cracked open her eyes with a quiet groan. Soft fabric was against her cheek, the scent familiar as she shut her eyes again with a hiss. Sunlight glowed through her eyelids and she shifted, feeling her body move against a solid warmth.

She was being shaken.

"Sawyer! Sawyer! God_dammit, _look at me!"

Daring to obey, she slowly blinked, letting her vision adjust to see concerned, angry blue eyes.

"Oh, God," she muttered groggily, the pain rocketing behind her eyes and making her shut them again.

The lower half of her body felt as if it was encased in ice, numb, sprawled across the cold concrete floor of the once deserted classroom. The low murmur of several people reached her ears as if from a great distance. Burying her nose in warm linen, her hands came up to twist the fabric in her fingers.

"Lassie? Stop making the room spin, huh?" she croaked, her voice muffled in his shirt.

He started barking at the unfortunate uniform that walked in, demanding a first aid kit and something else that she didn't hear because she was paying more attention to the sensation of his voice vibrating in his chest and against her nose than what he was actually saying. Experimentally, she shifted her legs, finding them stinging as circulation returned. He'd knelt next to where she'd fallen and pulled her up against him, trying to get her to open her eyes. His arm was warm where it was wrapped around her shoulders, his fingers stroking across the chilled flesh of her arm in a soothing, absent fashion.

Oh, he was pissed with her, she could feel it coursing like her own blood. And he had been worried; the knowledge made her grimace. She was going to pay for that later.

"I have really got to stop walking into empty rooms," she muttered.

"No, what you've got to stop is being such a stubborn fool," he replied in a vicious tone that belied the gentle touch he used to push her away from him so he could get a good look at her. "Anything broken?"

His fingers were probing the back of her head and when he came across a new knot that was forming, she hissed in a breath before jerking away from him.

"Ow! Watch it, Nurse Rached!"

Wincing as she gingerly ran her own fingertips through the dark curls to feel the source of her headache, her eyes started to get a good look around them. She noticed the door that she and Shawn had struggled with was hanging by a hinge with a hole blown through where the door handle used to be. Despite the massive ache that was insistently pulsing through her skull, she managed a depreciating chuckle.

"Why didn't we think of that?"

He glanced back to where she was looking and shrugged as he straightened.

"Because Spencer is incapable of thinking of anything practical."

She gave him an unconvinced look as she ran her fingers across the knot in an attempt to judge its breadth.

"And shooting the lock off was the practical choice?"

"You come out here out of spite, got yourself locked inside an abandoned building, possibly with a known killer, and there was no way to get to you, what else would you suggest?"

"A locksmith?" she asked archly as he leaned down and offered her his hand.

She accepted it and was pulled to her feet. Still feeling a little unsteady, she took a couple of wobbly steps before leaning back against the wall. Some of the anger seemed to leave him as he watched her, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing a little.

"You know you've probably got a concussion," he observed, moving to stand near her, his hand out near her elbow in case she completely lost her balance.

Felicity simply glared at him.

"Fine, I'll take that to mean you are."

The paramedic's entrance saved him from a retort that would have probably made a sailor duck his head in embarrassment.

"I'm alright, just a little dizzy," she assured the fresh-faced young man with a pleasant smile.

"You may feel alright, but something else might be going on, Miss," he replied smartly, immediately tilting her head back by gently gripping her chin.

He shined a light in her eyes, checking their dilation before politely asking her to follow the path of his finger. She complied and after a few more simple tests, he nodded with a mildly puzzled expression before checking the knot at the base of her skull. Running his fingers over it in a quick, professional manner, he shook his head.

"No concussion, though with that hard a blow, you really shouldn't even be conscious right now," he grinned at her, "You've got an exceptionally hard head."

"You have _no _idea," Lassie muttered behind him as he watched the examination.

"Any other pain?" the young man asked and Felicity shook her head.

"Just one hell of a headache."

He nodded again before turning to the detective.

"She should be fine. Just keep an eye on her, she'll probably be a little unsteady for a while."

Felicity scowled at the two of them, folding her arms across her chest.

"I could have told you that."

As the EMT left, Felicity pushed off from the wall and shuffled past the crime scene techs that were currently combing the building. Lassiter was on her heels as she backtracked towards the entrance. She was more than ready to get out and into some clean sunshine.

"What'd you find?" she asked as they walked, slowing half a step until he was abreast of her.

"Not much. No fingerprints yet, no sign of forced entry, and no body. If Spencer hadn't called me about what happened to you, I wouldn't think the son of a bitch had been here. You got any idea why he wanted you here?"

She glanced over at him.

"Henry briefed you on the case?"

"More like he tossed it at me as I was heading out the door."

"Ah, I could see that...and, no, I don't know what significance this building has, but I'm sure I will."

While the building itself hadn't revealed anything to her, other than the obvious connection between a missing teacher and an abandoned school, a little old fashioned research might provide some answers. The thought, and the memory of the dream she'd had, made her want to shiver. Clues lay in the vision, she was certain of it, but she didn't care to bring it up just then. The dream had felt familiar and she wondered if it was small part of what she'd seen in the church.

"I suppose I should ask what happened after I blacked out, but I think I can surmise. The door stuck, Gus panicked, called you back while Shawn beat at the door in a futile attempt at getting it open...and you screamed through every red light in the city to get out here."

"You're right on every count but the last," his eyes cut over to her with a mocking smirk, "Wasn't a need to break out the siren."

"Bastard," she replied coolly.

"Klutz," he fired back as they reached the propped open doors.

Felicity blinked rapidly, her eyes feeling scorched in the intense California sunshine. A hand at her elbow guided her down the steps of the building towards the curb. Suddenly, she realized that she was missing her bag. She glanced up at him as he opened the car door for her.

"Did you or anybody else see my bag? I had it when I walked into the classroom."

Lassiter shook his head as he out on a pair of sunglasses.

"No, but I'll let McNabb know to bring it to the station if anyone finds it."

Felicity groaned as she sat down in the passenger seat.

"My phone, my notes, my cards, my keys...everything is in that thing."

The look he gave her clearly stated that if she'd had the sense not to go into that room alone, it wouldn't have happened. Thankfully, he didn't actually say it, just quirked his brow and shut the door. When he came around the car and slid into the driver's seat, he reached into a paper bag between them and produced a green apple. Felicity couldn't help the smile that curved her lips as she plucked it from his fingers.

"Thanks, Lassie."

"Don't mention it."

She took a huge bite as they pulled out into the street.

"Where did Shawn and Gus go?" she asked around a mouthful of the tart fruit.

"Oh, they're still back there."

Her head whipped around to stare at him.

"And you _left_ without letting them know I was okay? Jesus, Lassie, poor Gus is probably having a heart attack right now!"

"Oh, please, Sawyer, they're grown men, and Spencer is supposedly psychic, so who's to say that he doesn't already know?"

Her eyes narrowed as she continued to watch him, long enough that several heartbeats passed before he glanced at her.

"What?"

"You know what."

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling out his cellphone and tapping the screen before putting it to his ear, "Spencer. I've got Sawyer in the car with me, she'd fine. Yes, we already left. No, it wasn't her idea. Yeah, I don't owe you an explanation."

Without another word, he hung up, tossing the phone into her lap as she took another bite of her apple, sucking the juice out of the newly exposed piece of flesh.

"Satisfied?" he snapped and she nodded.

"Yep, for the most part."

Lassiter didn't reply as he spun the wheel smoothly. Felicity eased her head back against the headrest, careful not to let the constant bumping of the car ride jar the sore spot on the back of her head.

"You know," she continued in a soft voice, "I'm starting to wonder if we're focusing on the wrong angle."

"Why?"

She let out a tired breath as she rubbed at her eyes with a free hand.

"We've been going at this by the book, for the most part. Focusing on the victims, trying to figure out the connections between them. Maybe-I don't know, maybe we should try getting an angle on this guy. I mean, we haven't found anything in the victims' pasts or current associations that mention anything about someone fitting his description."

Lassiter glanced towards her.

"So, what, you're saying we ought to try and get in this bastard's head? You got any idea how the hell we're supposed to do that? Everything we have on him is pretty much what you've been able to tell us."

Felicity bit another chunk out of her apple, chewing thoughtfully.

"I thought profiling was one of your top skills, before fishing and ski ball."

"I'm not going to ask how you know that, Sawyer."

You probably wouldn't believe me, Lassie," she frowned as she watched him turn again, "Where are we going?"

"You said you needed some things from your house."

"Oh, right. I'd totally forgotten that."

"You know what you need?"

She murmured an affirmation as he navigated the car, suddenly noting just how close the school was to her house. Her heart sank.

"Lassie," she said as they pulled into her driveway, "I think I know why I was supposed to go to that building."

She got out of the car before he could ask, nodding a greeting to the two policeman that were on duty outside her kitchen door. They let her in when Lassiter came up beside her and she quietly stepped into her own home, feeling incredibly ill at ease. Her hand dragged against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, a freezing numbness injecting the pads of her fingers. Felicity turned to Lassiter with a frown.

"He was here...recently."

He didn't even question her, simply drew his gun.

"Stay put," he ordered as he leaned out the door to call in the uniformed officers from outside.

The three men swept through the living room and Felicity followed them as far as the sofa. Lassiter indicated to check the back porch. As he was gesturing, Felicity stepped towards the hall leading to her room, feeling drawn. Quietly, she turned the knob and opened the door.

Nothing seemed amiss on first glance. Her CD's, her pictures, the sloppy way she'd made up her bed, everything seemed to be exactly as she'd left it. And yet, a chill hung in the air, clinging to her personal items like an invisible frost.

"What did you do, you son of bitch?" she asked of the air as she took a step towards the bed, then turned to the bathroom.

Flicking on the light, her heart leap to her throat before she let out a heartfelt curse. Letters were literally burnt across the opposite wall over her tub and as she touched the doorjamb, she got a flash of shaggy hair and thin nails scratching into the sheet rock.

_Welcome Home, Flick_

She heard Lassiter coming up behind and turned.

"I thought I told you to stay put, Sawyer," he growled, but she jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

He leaned past her to see what she was pointing at, holstering his weapon.

"Son of a bitch. How the hell did he get past the uniforms?"

Felicity shook her head.

"How did he get into a locked house?" she covered her face with her hands and let out a frustrated screech before slamming her fists down and back into the wall.

Shoving a hand through her hair, she moved to her closet and threw open the doors, blindly grabbing clothing and tossing it to the bed. She proceeded to pull a large suitcase from beneath her bed and open it, stuffing clothes, some CD's, and a couple of other personal items.

"Let's just get out of here," she said in a tight voice, throwing the strap over her shoulder.

Lassiter reached over and tried to take the case for her, but she shook her head vigorously, then walked out the room without a backwards glance. Striding out the kitchen door, she got in the car without another word, setting the bag at her feet in the floorboard. A few minutes later, the detective was beside her. He regarded her for a moment, but she just shook her head again.

"This house is never going to be home to me again, Lassie. I can't live here anymore," she mumbled, crossing her arms tightly.

He started the car.

"I know, Sawyer...I know."


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: **_**This one's a touch short gang, but I promise an extra juicy chapter next update! As always, read and enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Psych, though if I could borrow Lassie for an hour, maybe two, that'd certainly make me happy.**

* * *

"Mac, you know I love you, but I _cannot _live there anymore."

"Sweetie, you're being irrational. Once you catch this sumbitch, you'll see. Everything'll go back to the way it was."

Felicity supported her head in her palm as she propped her elbow on Henry's desk. Lassie had driven them straight back to the station as soon as they'd pulled out of her driveway. He'd tried to keep her from thinking too much, but she just couldn't bring herself to speak more than a few words. Her mind had simply been too demanding, tugging her attention in a thousand different directions. The sight of the precinct had been a relief, but he hadn't let her out of the car until she promised that she wouldn't take off again without him. To ensure it, he'd escorted her to Henry's desk and told the older man that if she moved from the chair to go anywhere other than the ladies room, he was handcuff her to the desk. Felicity had glared, but she hadn't argued.

Now, as she spoke to her best friend in the world, Felicity wondered if she should have made the call. She loved Mac dearly, but she just didn't understand; she couldn't.

"I don't feel safe there anymore. I'm not sure I can."

"Look, you're not staying there right now, give it some time. But not too much, I'm about to crawl the walls over here. Madison is driving me _bananas_."

The corner of her lips quirked up.

"Then your sister's doing her job. Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you. I know how you get."

"And a good thing too," she paused a moment before adding, "It'll be okay, you know."

"Yeah, I know," she replied, even though she knew that her voice lacked conviction.

She put the phone back in the cradle on that note, letting out a breath as her hand lingered on its black surface. Her gaze lifted to Henry, who was busily scribbling across a legal pad.

"Do you think you could get a couple of patrol cars to run past Mac's sister's place? Just to make me feel better?"

He looked up to give her with a nod.

"Sure. I've got a buddy in traffic, I'll ask him to swing by there. What's the address?"

She gave it to him and he wrote it down before picking up the phone on his desk. As he talked, Felicity pilfered a pen and an extra pad of paper, leaning back in her chair and tapping the point against the yellow sheet. Closing her eyes, she attempted to sort through the information that she'd received over the past couple of days.

She started with the vision she'd had while blacked out. Many aspects of the…well, dream, she guessed was the best term, were frightening and she suspected that was the intention. So she could disregard color and the state of the creature that had risen from the box. If she concentrated hard, she could recall snippets of a similar vision in the church, so something about this image was important. Perhaps a better question was why it had cropped up more than once?

Subtly, she shook her head. No, that was distracting. Was the room important? Yes, she thought, that held some merit. Opening her eyes, she wrote down what she remembered, underlining the fact that the room had been round. A circle? Probably. The creature itself? Also probably important. Her hand scrawled details as best she could, keeping them short, clinical.

_Round brown eyes gazed out of a disturbingly youthful face at her pleadingly, small mouth parting silently, black teeth bared as it screamed and she realized the thing had no tongue. The body was elongated, bent in the back with a knarred hump. Breasts hung limply from its skinny torso, rising in an illusion of drawing breath. Every rib could be easily counted, withered skin hanging in pocketed flaps as twisted arms flapped once in a sickening slap of flesh. _

The description was on the paper before she realized it, staring back at her as clearly as the pathetic thing had. But what was it? How did it relate to the church? To Mason? To the Thompsons? To the killer? She considered the sense she'd had in the church that something had been pulled into this world. Was this thing it or something else? Felicity had a feeling that it was the latter. So what _had _he summoned?

The possibilities were vast, if she was seriously considering the existence of something beyond the physical realm. Even as she sifted through her memories, it occurred to her that she still had more questions than answers; and he was trying very hard to give her answers. He wanted her to figure this out, because whatever his end game was, it involved her.

Her pen scratched idly against the paper as her thoughts drifted, a diagram emerging in the ink. Links between the killer, his victims, locations, motives...but nothing seemed to complete the connections.

"That thing reads creepy, Flick."

Felicity looked over her shoulder at see a thick tuft of brown hair before she was engulfed in a bear hug from behind.

"You should have seen it," she replied with a half smirk, patting the arm around her as she was released.

Shawn came around to perch on the edge of the desk as Gus squeezed her shoulder. She looked between the two of them, guilt rolling off of them in waves.

"I know it won't make you feel better if I say it wasn't your fault, but try anyway."

At least they smiled back at her.

"Lassie, the white knight," Shawn joked and the image it invoked had her chuckling.

"Yeah, it seems he always has to swoop in and save me despite my best efforts."

"Then I'd hate to see what you get into when it's an accident."

Felicity regarded Gus bemusedly before she tossed the pad back onto the desk with a heavy sigh. Shawn picked it up, his brows traveling up as he read it over.

"You've been thinking."

"Too much, I reckon."

"No such thing," Gus retorted.

"But I _can_ spend too much time in my head," she replied, standing and cracking her knuckles. She glanced down at Henry, putting her hands on her hips with a wry smile, "Permission to stretch my legs a little, Warden?"

He smirked up at her with a nod.

"So long as you don't wander too far. I'd hate to break out those handcuffs."

Felicity tilted her head, a matching smirk playing around her lips.

"You'd have to catch me first, old man."

"Old man, huh? Then I'll have the element of surprise," he replied, blue eyes twinkling.

Laughing softly, she turned on her heel and crossed over to Juliet's desk, bracing her arms on the wooden surface as the blonde looked up with a smile.

"Whatcha got, Jules?"

The other woman's smile faded a little as she lifted her hand in a defeated gesture.

"Not much. Hopefully, I'll have more once the lab finishes running all it's tests on what the techs collected at the school, but it looks like a pretty slim chance that anything was left there."

"So it's a dead end," Felicity translated with a grimace.

"Pretty much, unless you can pick anything else up between then and now."

She shook her head.

"I got nothin'."

Juliet patted her arm across the desk.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Shawn always does."

Felicity's smile was crooked.

"Shawn has a completely different ability, but that's neither here no there."

The policewoman's look was sympathetic.

"Carlton told me about what you found in your house."

"At least he didn't touch my Frankie collection," Felicity quipped with a casual shrug of her shoulders, "Then there'd have been a real problem."

Juliet laughed softly, her head moving slowly from side to side.

"I don't think I could be that glib if someone broke into my house and carved a welcome home sign on my bathroom wall."

Felicity's brows rose.

"Are you kidding? I'm about two steps from a straight jacket. Being flippant is just a coping mechanism, trust me."

Juliet frowned at her, her head tilting.

"Do you want Gus and Shawn to stay at Carlton's with you?"

"Jules! Don't volunteer us for that kind of punishment!"

An even, blue-eyed glare from the blonde silenced further protests. Sulking, Shawn sank into Felicity's chair, propping his legs on the corner of Henry's desk before the older Spencer shoved them off. When his son opened his mouth, he just pointed his finger with a meaningful look.

"I will never perfect that look."

Juliet's wistful observation made Felicity smile.

"You will, when your son gives you a reason too."

Juliet's gaze shifted to her, startled.

"You can see tha-"

"No, no, no, I mean, when you have kids, that look becomes a requirement."

"Oh. I can see that."

They chatted for some time, Felicity more than pleased to have a conversation that wasn't case related. With a swift flick of her foot, she flipped Shawn out of her chair, landing hard on his ass, without Felicity batting an eyelash. Ruefully, he gazed at her, rubbing at his sore bottom.

"C'mon, Flick, that was such a Lassie thing to do!" he whined as she wheeled the chair around.

"And I completely understand the temptation."

"Like nailing a target at twenty yards," Lassiter commented as he strode between them towards his desk, jacket hanging over his arm.

Shawn scowled as Gus helped him up.

"Are you trying to say I'm easy, Lassie?"

Felicity's lips twitched.

"I think that's exactly what he said."

Gesturing for Juliet to join him at his desk, Lassiter braced his hands on the surface for a moment before sitting down in his chair. Shawn grumbled under his breath as he and Gus walked off. Pushing her toe against the side of Juliet's desk, she slid across the aisle back to her original position next to Henry's. Her gaze lingered on the two detectives as they hunched over Lassie's desk, then began to wander along the slight play of muscle hidden just beneath the fold of where he had rolled up his sleeve.

"Kid, you've got to learn how to be more subtle than that."

Henry's low voice almost made her jump out of her skin.

"Huh?"

He was grinning at her, his arms folded across his barrel chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"You keep givin' Lassie them bedroom eyes and he's liable to take you up on it. A man's only got so much fortitude when a woman's looking at him like that."

Her cheeks were turning five shades of scarlet. Grabbing her notepad and pen back up, she started furiously scratching across the paper, tucking her chin down so that he couldn't see her mortified expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she mumbled, her hand busily moving.

A thick finger curving over the top of the pad had her looking up to meet his eyes.

"Cop, remember?"

"I doubt I'll ever forget it," she muttered, making his knowing smile widen into a smirk. Blasted cops and their thrice-damned nosiness.

"Has anyone said anything about my bag?" she asked, changing the subject.

Henry shook his head.

"Not yet, but I'll keep my ears open."

"I appreciate it."

"Sawyer!"

Felicity turned to see Lassiter shrugging on his jacket.

"Yeah, Lassie?"

He jerked his head.

"C'mon, I'm hungry."

As soon as the words left his mouth, her stomach let out a quiet purr. Glaring at Henry's amused expression, she rose from her chair, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear.

"Let me know, eh?"

"Sure," he replied with a nod.

With a grateful smile, she hurried to catch up with the detective's longer stride.


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: This one's for GracefulWolvesintheNight, who has been amazingly supportive, encouraging, and just plain awesome as I've hurtled through this story! :)**_

_**As always, please read and enjoy! (And maybe leave a review?)**_

_**WARNING: **_**Some mature themes ahead, ye have been warned!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I promise and so does the gremlin.**

* * *

Felicity awoke with a start, unnerved to open her eyes and find that she could clearly see her breath. Bolting upright, she reached over to the nightstand and pulled out her glock, cocking it and aiming it towards the window in one smooth motion.

Nothing.

She was panting, the dream that had been plaguing her still fresh in her mind's eye. Lowering her weapon, she feel back against the pillows, shivering, the threadbare t-shirt hardly enough to keep her warm as the nightmare's memory battered against her again and again, as sure and as merciless as the tide.

_It was a room with no corners._

_At the center was a raised dais, with a box set neatly with precise edges. She couldn't tell if it was wood or cardboard or stone and as she caught snatches of it in her vision, it seemed to be absorbing all the cotter colors present in the space, as if sucking them into a pitch void. _

_Suddenly aware that she was standing, she carefully took a step forward, a curiosity and a kind of unknowable dread drawing her towards the platform. The sound of her heel clacking against the hard surface beneath her was too loud, echoing in a seemingly endless loop that tore at her ears like curled claws. She covered her ears with a sob, but her eyes never left that box._

_It must not have had a lid because a small hand reached up, grasping at empty air. An arm extended it upwards, then bent at an odd angle as tiny fingers closed over the edge of the box. As the light strobed again, she could see that the fingernails were jagged, dirty. A crackling reached her ears as the hand's grip tightened. _

_Slowly, flesh began to appear. Like yellowed parchment, it hung from bone in crinkled flaps, bruises resembling ink blots. _

_And then she saw the face._

_It was Mason's face._

It had been a heartbreaking, terrifying image and one that seemed determined to haunt her into her waking hours. No leads, no progress, and no rest were starting take a toll on her, but rousing herself every night for three days with the same image seared in her brain and now this new twisted, gnawing cold…

Shuddering again, Felicity leaned towards the edge of the bed, securing her gun back into its hiding place. The room was still freezing cold and even as she burrowed back down under the relatively thick comforter, her extremities felt like they were sheathed in ice. Rubbing at her arms, she tried to create some sort of warming friction without much success. Her legs drew up as she curled into as small a ball as humanly possible in a vain attempt to conserve body heat. Her hands tucked beneath her chin, a prickling sensation making her fingertips unpleasantly sensitive.

No one was here, other than Lassiter, she was sure of it, so why the damned cold? Was the dream a message powerful enough to affect the state of the physical plane? The thought was disconcerting. But why create a change in temperature? Perhaps freezing to death made one's brain cells work at an accelerated pace, despite what they say in the movies, because Felicity's was working in overdrive.

Was he here? Her senses expanded as she allowed her fingers to travel just far enough out of the warm cocoon to brush against the dark headboard. In her mind's eye there was an impression of death…old death, as if a faded tombstone had been erected in the living room, but no other negative indications. Snatching her hand back under the covers, she shivered again, more violently this time. It was like the cold had fingers too and they were piercing through the body-warmed coverlet to tickle across her skin in ghostly, chilled caresses.

She ran one set of fingers over the other, noting that they seemed too thin, clawlike, as they curled into her throat. Her nose was now painfully cold as her body trembled, every breath a stinging gasp of air. She needed heat.

Throwing back the covers, she padded to the door that led to the hallway, then silently crossing the corridor. Her hand was raised to knock, but then she thought better of it. Felicity stood in front of the door, her arms clutching around her middle as she mentally argued with herself. This was insane. What was Lassie going to think if she just barged into his room and demanded a place in his bed, for the sake of warmth? There had been one too many nights were she'd been on the wrong end of a gun during this stint, and that was more than enough incentive to retreat back to her bed, glacial air or no glacial air; better to sleep cold than be shot. As if to emphasize the frozen fate that awaited her if she turned, a gust of cold air swept past her legs and made her shiver again. It made up her mind for her.

She reached for the door knob.

Wincing at the quiet click, she turned it and the door swung inward. The room was as dim as the hallway, but she could somewhat make out the layout. The air was so much warmer in his room, almost balmy, and she literally felt her toes thawing. With a soft rustle of movement, she pushed the door shut behind her, hoping to keep the chill that had seemingly followed her into the hall would stay out beyond the threshold. Then she turned, holding her breath as she tiptoed to the edge of the bed.

In the darkness, she couldn't see much, but her eyes managed to perceive a semi-sprawled tangle of limbs on the far side of the large bed, close to the wall. Praying to whatever gods may be listening that they would lay the thickest sleeping spell they had on the slumbering detective, Felicity gingerly eased the sheet back and lowered herself to the mattress, inch by inch. He didn't stir and she wondered at how he could wake so easily at the slightest creak outside his door, but it seemed that stirring within these particular four walls didn't even register. Then again, maybe he was just as exhausted as she was.

Either way, he barely twitched as she slid between the blessedly warm covers of his bed. With barely a swish of fabric, she turned on her side, away from him and let out a silent breath between her lips, thankful that she couldn't see it anymore.

At least, she was grateful right up until he rolled over and threw his arm around her waist, mumbling into the back of her neck sleepily.

Every single part of her body went rigid, her mind racing. Aw, crap, was the prevalent thought as she slightly scooted away from the, oh so tempting heat of his body spooning against hers. His arm tightening where it curved over her stomach immediately squelched that attempt. In a mild panic now, and cursing her mad, frost-addled brain for coming up with this idea, Felicity chewed on her bottom lip, frantically trying to come up with some way of getting out of this predicament and back into her icebox of a bedroom.

A soft warm, puff of air slid past the delicate shell of her ear, making her shiver for an entirely different reason than the cold, as his cheek lightly rested on the curtain of dark ringlets that had spread out behind her on the pillow. A firm tug had her back pressed up against his chest, his lips brushing her ear, tickling it gently as he breathed.

"Felicity," he murmured, his thumb starting to move in a slow, circling caress over her flat stomach through her t-shirt.

Well, at least he hadn't muttered another woman's name, she thought wryly as she subtly shifted against him, resigning herself to the fact that she wasn't going anywhere for a while. Not that she had a whole lot to complain about right then; he was warm, she felt safe, and the combination of both was starting to make her feel that languid relaxation that foreshadowed sleep.

Idly, she stretched her leg out as she shifted again, delving further into the covers. Her fingers burrowed beneath the pillow as her eyes drifted closed. He was probably going to want a serious explanation as to why she was cuddled up with him in his bed without an invitation, but that seemed far away.

Somehow his thumb had snuck its way beneath the hem of her t-shirt, the warm pad brushing against the soft skin of her belly in that same stroking touch. Felicity hummed drowsily under her breath, tilting her head back. Her shirt slipped higher as his palm slid against her skin, the sensuality of the simple gesture making something spark in her blood. She bit her lip as his grazed her neck, his mumbled words lost against the gentle curve where her neck met her shoulder.

He was asleep. He _had _to be asleep; because there is no way that he could possibly torture her this way if he was awake. Her body was hovering between lethargy and hyper awareness, a state that was as strange as it was bewildering. Her pulse was fluttering in her throat, much like the butterflies that kept quivering with every brush of his thumb against her skin. Memories of the last time she'd been feeling vulnerable surfaced unbidden, and certainly weren't being very helpful. Letting out a frustrated breath, Felicity shifted again, intending to just slip out and finish the night on the couch, but his fingers spread across her abdomen, holding her firmly in place.

Cold or no cold, she needed to get out of here, dammit. The question was how was she going to sneak back out without waking him up? His thumb had ceased its distracting motions, but the lack of movement only served to heighten her awareness of exactly where his hand was. It's position also rendered he incapable of getting out of the bed without the distinct possibility of rousing him. Cursing her cowardice, she steeled herself for what was bound to be an utterly unsatisfying night.

And she didn't have to use any psychic ability to figure that out, she thought a tad bitterly.

Her back was still molded to his chest, his knees tucked into the curve of hers. But now he was sleepily nuzzling against the highly sensitive skin just beneath her ear, making her shiver against him. Felicity looked towards the ceiling pleadingly, silently praying that he'd fall into a deeper sleep, the paralyzing kind. She was only human and this kind of contact was either going to start something that could end regrettably or drive her mad, not necessarily in that order.

Someone may have finally taken pity on her, because for the next few hours, he was perfectly still, which allowed her to at least doze for a while.

When she next awoke, however, it was to that devilish hand of his wandering the silky skin of her abdomen again, although now his touch was less sleepy and more sure. The sun was peeking through the curtains of his bedroom, illuminating the walls in a soft, comfortable light.

His fingertips ghosted her ribcage, illiciting a tiny, breathy giggle from her as she groggily attempted to figure out just what was tickling her. Then his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, earning another soft gasp and making her back arch slightly. It was as if someone had just gently touched her with the electric arc of a battery, sending a jolt straight through her.

A low growl reverberated next to her and before she registered it, she was on her back with his lips hot and hungry against hers. One arm braced his body above hers while the other stroked upwards, kneading her breast as his tongue dove past her parted lips to plunder her mouth. Her back arched again as his thumb flicked expertly across the pebbled bud, her fingers finding purchase in the thick plaid material of his pajamas. Stunned stillness gave way in the face of his boldness and she responded, nipping his bottom lip as her leg snaked to wrap around his narrow hip.

Lassiter groaned into her mouth as her tongue tangled with his, his hand withdrawing from beneath her shirt to trace the smooth curve of her thigh. As his lips left hers to blaze a trail down the column of her throat, her thoughts scattered like petals on the wind. Slender fingers wove through the salt-and-pepper strands of his hair as he bite down on the flesh just above her collarbone before soothing the spot with his tongue. When his lips found hers again, her hands explored the lean expanse of his chest, fingers dancing downwards to feel the muscles of his stomach clench beneath the thick shirt. His fingertips were sliding the hem of her t-shirt upwards, grazing the silky curve of her hip before discovering a defensive line of soft cotton. One kiss blended into another and another, leaving her breathless as his hips settled into hers, the feel of him against her leaving no doubts of his desire.

His hand moved down to anchor her leg around his hip as he rocked forward, making her moan as he pressed against the hot dampness of her center, unerringly finding the tiny bundle of nerves that sent her own hips bucking helplessly. He did it again, and again, sending her spiraling higher and higher as his hips found a steady rhythm, each thrust against her making lights burst behind her closed eyelids. She tossed her head back with another low moan, tearing her mouth from his. Her other leg slid up to match its mate, her hands finally snaking their way beneath his pajamas to stroke the thick expanse of curls that covered his chest. Oh, Dear _God, _she wanted him, she thought dimly, his mouth occupying itself by exploring the arched curve of her neck. Felicity's fingers did their own exploring, tracing the enticing line of fur that led past the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Heat greeted her fingertips as they dipped downwards, a velvety warmth that she barely caressed, making him hiss in a breath through clenched teeth as her thumb brushed the very tip of him.

He lifted his head, his burning eyes taking in her swollen lips and dazed expression. She could feel the intense wave of possessiveness that washed through him, followed by a need so fierce that she actually gasped.

"Carlton," she whispered, pleading with her eyes and her voice as her hips undulated, begging him with word and action to give her a release.

Something in his mind must have finally clicked into place, because she sensed that he'd come to a startling realization and it was enough to make her drop her head back into the pillows with a disgruntled groan.

The damned fool thought he'd been dreaming.

It was like someone had just dumped an entire cooler of ice water over them both. The heated intensity disappeared like a puff of smoke from his gaze, everything he'd been feeling slamming behind the icy blue walls of his irises. She relaxed her body from around him, her legs unhooking themselves from around his hips. Without a word, he rolled off of her and left the room, vanishing down the hall. She heard the distant slam of the bathroom door, her eyes closing again, except this time it was in frustration. She had alot of explaining to do, the question just happened to be how much he planned on listening.

"One helluva way to start the day," she muttered with a scowl.

And what a day it was going to be.


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: **_**Just a fun note, on some events that happen in this chapter (and you'll know them when you hit them) I had the song Coming Undone by Korn playing, so it definitely shaped the trajectory and before I knew it, there it was. Surprised the hang out of me, but then I thought, awesomeness, this works! Anyhoo, I just wanted to thank those of you that have been reviewing and favoriting and following and all those wonderful things that keep me going with this. Also, I'd like to apologize for taking longer than usual to update, but I'm in my last semester of grad school, so my life has gone from 0 to 60 in the span of a couple weeks. Please keep being patient with me as I balance the demands of the muse with the demands of life. :D**

**As always, I hope you read and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, the gremlin promises. :)**

* * *

Felicity dug through the fridge, pulling out a large green apple and a bottle of juice. Pouring herself a glass, she set the container aside and hopped back onto the counter, her bare feet dangling against the lower cabinets. The cuffs of her grey sweatpants bunched just above her ankles, her heels tapping against wood rhythmically. Bright tartness burst on her tongue as she bit into the fruit's flesh, just sweet enough to make her close her eyes in appreciation.

She could faintly hear the shower still running, so she leaned back against the wall just beside the sink, drawing her knees up to her chest on the counter as she took another bite. Quietly munching, Felicity took the opportunity to look out the tiny window over the sink. She couldn't see much; red brick stretched down to a cold, damp alley, littered with discarded grocery bags and crumpled soda cans.

A dark green dumpster gaped near the edge of her vision, spewing out its contents like a disgruntled volcano. On an impulse, she shifted the latch and slid the window up. The scent of the city wafted past her sensitive nose. Wet asphalt, the trash far below giving off a sweet, decayed odor, the lightest hint of tar, and heat. Steam was rolling through the alleyway, warm white puffs that carried with them the remnants of car exhaust and gasoline. The water running in thin rivulets over black concrete and disappearing into dark depths beneath the ground was a surprisingly soothing sound.

Even so, unease was settling like fluttering black wings between her shoulder blades. There was an unpleasant clenching in her chest, a tightness that made her fingers tighten their grip on the edge of the window. Lowering the glass pane, she locked it back into place. She didn't care to deal with more of Lassie's paranoia than she had to, and she'd probably invoked quite enough already. The fluttering moved to her stomach as she heard the quiet squeak of the water being turned off.

She listened closely, footsteps reaching her ears, followed by a firm click. Hopping off the counter, she dropped the remains of the apple's core in the trash can as she moved into the living room and down the hall. With a soft clink, the bathroom door shut and locked behind her. Felicity sagged back against it for a moment, her hair falling forward, covering her face. How in the hell was she going to face him?

Embarassment was the primary emotion that drove her to hide for a while longer, but it was also a certain amount of anger. Her eyes narrowed to slits as the memory of the emotions she had sensed slid into her. He had been pleased, aroused, but underneath that, once reality had set in, there'd been nothing but shock. It was what had made him freeze, why he'd left the room without a word. For some reason, that knowledge was what pissed her off the most.

Felicity slipped out of her t-shirt and sweats, padding to the shower and twisting the knob, surprised to find that the water was still hot. Then it dawned on her that he'd probably had a _very_ cold shower. It was almost enough to make her smile. As her fingers worked through the damp strands of her hair, she considered why his bewilderment made her want to grind her teeth.

Couldn't he feel what he did to her?

Her fingertips traced one of the paths that his had explored not so long ago, the rememberance enough to make her cheeks flush. She'd wanted him, _badly. _Hell, she'd been rubbing against him like a feline in heat, another memory that made her face warm. And he couldn't have missed the desire that she'd known had been clear in her eyes, in her expression.

So what the hell had he been startled about?

The answer came to her as she worked her shampoo into a rich lather, making her hands still. Grey eyes widened and then she cursed, wrath flaring to life in her abdomen so hotly that it made her stomach burn. Swiftly washing and rinsing her hair and body, she flung back the shower curtain and snatched at the towel hanging to her left. It swallowed her petite form as she jerked open the door with a snarl, tying the fluffy fabric around her.

The sounds echoing down the hall led her to the kitchen and she saw him standing over the sink, coffee mug in hand. His dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, his jacket no where to be seen. His slacks were, as always, perfectly pressed, the slender brown belt snaking around his narrow waist. Felicity kept going, marching right up to his back and giving it a hard poke.

"Ow, Sawyer, what the hell-"

Before he had completely turned around, she was shoving her finger into his chest, noting that he hadn't yet put on a tie.

"You-you lousy...pig-headed...you insecure..gah!" she yelled, throwing up her hands, her rage to the point that she couldn't even make a complete sentence.

His brows rose as his eyes roved to take in what little she had on, but Felicity was too engrossed in her fury to care. Her hands braced on her hips, eyes narrowed and snapping like storm clouds.

"Come again?" he asked, blinking and setting his cup down on the counter.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, Felicity forced herself to calm down just enough to be coherent. Reaching up, she twined the fingers of one hand in his light blue shirt while the other remained at her hip. She stretched up on her tiptoes, fully intending for her eyes to be the only thing he was going to look at as she said her peace.

"No more," she growled and he blinked again, confusion twining with bashfulness to cloud the baby blue irises.

"No more _what_, Sawyer?"

God, how could she get him to understand? No more running, no more denying that good things could walk into his life and his arms. No more suspicions that her attraction to him was anything less than real. No more pretending that there was no possible way she could be attracted to him. No more masking the truth behind the comfortable cover of sarcasm and biting insults.

No more, no more, no more, _no more!_

The words echoed in her mind like a chant, a prayer, a plea; anything that could make him see and not for the first time, Felicity wished that her ability was like a two-way radio. It was almost like a madness, a desperation to reach him, to find a way to link his mind with hers. But it wasn't and the words that would make him understand didn't exist. So she did the next best thing.

She kissed him.

She brought her lips to his and kissed him with everything she had, molding the scantly clad curves of her body to his, ignoring that the towel was damp and that he'd be barking at her for making him change clothes later. For now, she focused on smoothing her hands up his shirt to meet at the nape of his neck, holding him to her as her tongue slipped between his surprised lips. When his hands came down to rest on her waist with a low sound, she hummed against his mouth, then nipped at his lower lip.

Her back slammed against the fridge before she'd registered that it'd happened.

His mouth was devouring hers, claiming it as she'd tried to claim his. It was heat, and electricity, and a tumultuous energy that threatened to swallow her whole. It surged through her body, making her muscles twitch, her back arch. His chest pressed into hers, pinning her effectively against the stainless metal of the door. One arm had wrapped around her waist, tilting her hips into his as his fingers brushed against the back of her exposed thighs just beneath the hem of the towel. His other hand was sliding along the curve of her torso, upwards to tangle in the wet ringlets of her hair.

It was rough and frenzied, her nails raking through the strands of his hair to run sharply against his scalp. His hands flexed on her body, the fingers in her hair tightening as her teeth grazed his lips again. He had to feel this, he had to _know _how the energy around them sparked, then surged as their bodies seemed to meld against one another. How could he not experience this? How could he ignore the sensations that rippled through them both?

When they parted for air, Felicity let her head fall back against the fridge, staring into dark blue eyes as she tried to catch her breath. Eyes that reflected arousal...and astonishment. It made her scowl as her arms unwound from his neck. Her hand curled into a fist and she thumped it hard against his chest.

"Why can't you _see?" _she asked through clenched teeth, knowing that he couldn't understand when she couldn't even tell him how.

Lassiter's brows drew together in a frown and she snarled again, pushing at his chest until he gave her the room to wriggle from where his arms had trapped her. A cold rivulet began to meander down her neck, making her shiver. She gestured to herself with a jerk of her thumb.

"A nearly naked woman kisses you speechless and you _still _don't believe she wants you?"

His frown turned from concerned to confounded as he stood with his palms bracing against the fridge, which only set her teeth on edge. She put her hands to her temples, lowering her head as she tried to formulate how to explain. With a sigh, her hands clenched again and she stamped her foot in pure frustration.

"Carlton, I-"

Her vexation proved to be too much for words, so she just let out a heartfelt, "Argh!"

Then she was stalking back to the guest room, leaving an utterly confused detective in her wake. When she'd gone, he just stood rooted in front of the fridge, blinking at where she'd been standing. Several heartbeats passed before he hung his head.

"What...the..._hell_."

* * *

The normal buzz of the station had been reduced to a low murmur as the clock struck noon. Felicity tugged at the pencil she'd placed in her bun to hold it together, chewing on the end of it before beginning to scribble. The file she had in hand was a new missing persons, a toddler. The child's face stared up at her with large brown eyes and a chubby smile, a giggle clearly about to escape.

"Oh, darlin'," she whispered sadly, "Where'd you go?"

The report was spare on details; disappeared close to home while her mother had stepped inside for a brief moment to grab the little one's sippy cup. And in a flash of green ribbons and blone pigtails, she was gone. Felicity ran her thumb across the edge of the picture, shuddering as she sensed terror, tasted tears.

"Anything?"

She glanced up to see Henry standing near the desk, his arms folded across his barrel chest as he leaned a hip against the sturdy wood. Her head shook.

"Not much. Whoever did this was fast. Almost too fast to leave an impression. She was gone before she could realize that something wrong had happened."

He frowned.

"You mean the kid?"

Felicity nodded, the pad of her thumb tracing the letters that spelled Alice Fitzgerald.

"Alice, yeah. Ironic, in a sad way." Her lips twisted in a bitter smile as she closed the file abruptly and tossed it on the pile in front of the computer. "She fell down the rabbit hole and no one has any idea where she is."

He grunted, lowering himself into his chair with a protesting squeak of old metal.

"Keep talkin' like that, Flick, and they're gonna call the doc."

Her fingers laced in her lap as she crossed one leg over the other, the fabric of her skirt coarse against the heels of her palms.

"It's either that or giving in to the empathy."

He gave her an appraising look before leaning forward on his elbows.

"You'll figure out the balance. Just takes time." He tilted his head, one hand wrapping around the other in front of him. "Now, on a different note, what do you want to eat?"

Her lips twitched as a genuine smile tugged at her mouth and she stood.

"Do you have to ask?"

"I guess not," he replied, rising again and falling into step beside her, catching his jacket from the back of chair as he went.

The sunshine was bright and warm as they turned the corner of the station and strode into the open air of the sidewalk. Their trek to the vendor on the corner was short, but a welcome distraction for Felicity. To be around normal people going about everyday activities was a grounding experience and it was something she probably needed more than she'd realized. She bought two apples and a pear, tucking the paper bag under her arm as she idly tossed one green fruit in the air idly before deftly catching it again.

She tore into the flesh with a sharp bite then offered it to Henry who shook his head.

"Nope, that's all you, Flick."

She grinned at him as they strolled back towards the precinct, letting her eyes rove over the sun baked buildings and milling pedestrians. It was a fairly peaceful day, nothing to insinuate the kind of morning she'd had. Humming softly under her breath, she turned her head towards the older man.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

There must have been something of what she wanted to ask in her features because he stopped near the entrance to the station and pointed towards a bench a little further down the sidewalk. After they'd seated themselves on the hard wood, he draped his arms over the back of the bench.

"What's buggin you?"

Felicity chewed on her lower lip, one hand cradling her apple while the other fingered the white headband in her hair.

"How do you know you've picked the wrong battle?"

The look her gave her was speculative. Then he chuckled.

"Lassie ignoring your whistle?"

Her face probably turned five different shades of red as she blanched, making his chuckle turn into a laugh.

"Take it easy, kid, you'll choke on that embarrassment if you're not careful!"

Felicity's expression was a mixture of uncomfortable and amused despite herself.

"Just...don't mention this to Shawn and Gus, alright? They'll razz me till Kingdom Come if they knew."

He grinned at her and shrugged.

"I dunno, Flick. All I can tell you is to keep whistling till he figures out what it means."

She laughed then, although it sounded more like a snort.

"That might take a while."

Henry sobered a little, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his legs, clasping his hands together.

"Then you just have to ask if you're willing to wait it out. If you are, then you do, if not, then you don't."

Grey eyes became skeptical as she glanced at him, then at the apple between her fingers.

"That seems too simple."

He shrugged again.

"Most things are, people just don't always believe that. The second question to ask is what are you waiting for."

Felicity considered the question a moment before she answered, her brow furrowing.

"I reckon I'm waiting to see what'll happen...when he figures out the difference between a whistle and a tea kettle's whine."

His gaze was considering.

"I guess I don't need to ask if you know what you're doing."

Felicity's smile was wry as she looked up at him.

"No, you probably do...because I don't have the slightest idea what I'm doing." Henry's brow arched as she stood, taking another bite of her apple before adding, "And I'm not sure why either, other than I'm pretty sure it's the same reason why I took this job."

"And why was that?"

One arm wrapped around her middle as she looked out across the city.

"There wasn't much choice in the matter. It was like choosing whether or not to breathe."

Henry shook his head, leaning back again.

"I'm not sure I understand."

She shrugged.

"To be honest...neither do I. I'm not really thinking about it, in terms of considering the consequences or whether or not to let it happen." She twisted around to give him a half smile. "Either way, thanks for the ear."

"Anytime." He paused for a moment, then asked, "So what are you going to do in the meantime?"

Her eyes were twinkling with more good humor than she'd felt in three days, a playful smirk dancing over her lips.

"Practice whistling, what else?"


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: **_**Sorry for taking so long, loves, it's been a hectic month for me! And I got interested in other projects and this took the back burner and well...I was distracted, we'll call it that. Anyway, here's the latest installment, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, and follows, please keep them coming! :)**

* * *

The file held as little answers now as it did when she first brushed her fingertips against it. It was like the child had just vanished into the aether. What bothered Felicity the most was that seemed to have been exactly what had happened.

Letting out a very unladylike snort, Felicity settled herself more comfortably into her chair, the ancient springs creaking as she shifted. Her eyes roved across the neatly typed words, not really seeing them. Her attention was pretty evenly divided between the file she held open in her lap and the detective that was apparently hellbent on driving her to distraction. Every shade of blue seemed to catch her attention, encouraging her to draw comparisons between the object's hue and an icy set of eyes that gave her a hard stare every time they passed. If she allowed her thoughts to wander that far, the morning's events would remind her of their existence, warmth pulsing in her lips then flooding her cheeks when her embarrassment would get the better of her.

It didn't help her mood that Lassiter had been giving her a wide berth. His butt had barely touched chair three times that afternoon before he'd glanced up, spot her and promptly find a reason to leave the bullpen once again. The last time she'd given him such a glare that he'd actually paused mid stride before briskly walking past with a scowl. Every exchange seemed to make the cops around them twitch, as if waiting for the cap to blow off an old fashioned radiator.

Felicity watched him disappear around a column and out of sight, almost snarling.

"Bastardized son of a goat titsuc-"

She didn't get to finish her curse as a bark of laughter echoed behind her and she turned to see Juliet regarding her with an amused gaze.

"Only one man I know can inspire that kind of colorful language."

Felicity's frown deepened.

"Inspire is not the word I would use."

The other woman's lips curved into a small smile as she came around the chair to sit at Henry's desk, leaning her elbow on the hard wooden surface. Her expression then became earnest.

"Do you want to know something, Flick?"

Felicity let out a heavy sigh, carefully closing the file lying across her thighs and setting it on the very top of the large file near her arm.

"Shoot."

Juliet's smile faded a little as she crossed her legs in a businesslike fashion.

"You baffle him."

Felicity felt her brow lifting.

"What doesn't?" She retorted nastily.

"Felicity."

Felicity glared and folded her arms.

"Fine, fine, that was mean. But that...puzzlement is mainly why I'm aggravated."

Juliet's blue eyes held a knowing glint, one that made Felicity squirm uncomfortably in her chair. Silence stretched between them as the brunette inspected the short, worn nails at the tips of her fingers. She studied their ragged edges, shorn by canines when they became too long to be practical.

"Have you tried just talking to him?"

At the skeptical rise of dark brows, Juliet held up her hands.

"Alright, alright, I get it, not the best approach with Carlton, but how else are you going to keep him from driving you up the wall?"

"Slip Benadryl in his coffee?" Flick deadpanned, causing the detective across from her to look at her dubiously.

"I'm...not sure if you're serious or not."

Felicity smiled crookedly.

"Good, that means interrogation's going to be that much harder when they finally catch me for impersonating a Benedictine nun in Boston."

Juliet threw back her head and laughed.

"You're nuts, you know that?"

Felicity grinned.

"That's what my best friend has been saying for over a decade."

The woman shared a grin before the blonde cop glanced down at the stack of files on the desk.

"What's that you're working on?" she asked, jutting out her chin and gesturing to the blandly-colored folder.

Felicity sighed, shoving a hand through her dark ringlets. With her other hand, she plucked up the file and handed it to Juliet before leaning back once again in her chair.

"Little girl, Alice Fitzgerald, went missing last week. Mother turned her back for just a moment and *poof*, she was gone."

Juliet shook her head slowly, her lips pulling down in a sorrowful expression.

"Sweet looking baby," she glanced up, blue eyes glittering with a look Felicity had seen often enough in Lassiter's, a kind of inquisitive intelligence, "Nothing coming to mind?"

"No, not a damned thing," the brunette replied tightly, a grimace of frustration crossing her features as she propped a finger against her temple, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

Juliet gently handed the file back.

"Have you and Carlton been to the neighborhood? Shawn always gets clearer visions when he visits the crime scene."

Felicity's eyes narrowed.

"I am not going _anywhere_ near an enclosed space with that pompous, Kojak-impersonating, delusional excuse of a-"

Juliet held up her hands, eyes widening.

"I'll take that as a no, then. Still, want to take a ride out there?"

Felicity was quiet for a moment. To be honest, she was hesitant to follow up on this one. Her experience with Mason's kidnapping had shaken her and while she couldn't be certain that this was related, it _had_ occurred in a neighborhood not too far from where the little boy had been abducted. Lassie wouldn't be happy with her scurrying off out of the station without him again either, even if she was with his partner.

That clenched it.

Her lips twitching, she nodded and stood, smoothing a hand down her skirt.

"It's probably be best. Mind making a stop before we get there?"

The other woman shook her head as she gestured for Felicity to precede her down the aisle.

"No, not at all. Where are we stopping?"

"Fruit vendor on the corner. I'm going to need some apples for this."

She heard Juliet chuckling behind her and she cracked a small smile herself, glancing over as the two women walked down the concrete steps that led to the parking lot.

"Do you remember the address?"

Juliet tapped at her temple.

"Yep, got it right here."

Climbing into the passenger seat, Felicity settled into the sun-warmed leather as Juliet smoothly pulled out into the street. By the time they had picked up Felicity's apples, it was already mid afternoon. As warm air laced the cold drafts that blasted from the vent of the air conditioner, her thoughts were finally allowed to turn to the events that had transpired that morning. The remembrance made her cheeks heat. How could one man be so damned dense? And what the hell had she been thinking?

They were both good questions. The former had a simple enough answer, but the latter...not so much. Letting out a heavy breath through her nose, her head fell back against the head rest. She thought about her conversation with Henry earlier that day. What did she want, anyway? Had she picked the wrong battle? What was she fighting so hard for? Recognition? A relationship? Felicity snorted. Right, because a relationship with Lassie would work. Oil and water, utterly incompatible. So, what then?

Felicity grappled with the question, turning it over and over slowly in her mind. There was something between them, that couldn't be denied, she admitted silently with a tiny shiver; something that made her heart thump hard against her ribs and electricity skate across her skin. And at the same time, she wanted to scream in frustration and slam her fists against his chest. Unfortunately, that thought instantly turned to another.

_His mouth was devouring hers, claiming it as she'd tried to claim his. It was heat, and electricity, and a tumultuous energy that threatened to swallow her whole. It surged through her body, making her muscles twitch, her back arch. His chest pressed into hers, pinning her effectively against the stainless metal of the door. One arm had wrapped around her waist, tilting her hips into his as his fingers brushed against the back of her exposed thighs just beneath the hem of the towel. His other hand was sliding along the curve of her torso, upwards to tangle in the wet ringlets of her hair._

"Aw, hell," she muttered with a deep blush, running a hand through her hair as if to chase away the ghost of his fingers in the dark curls.

"Hmm?" Juliet asked as she made a careful left turn.

"Nothing, nothing," Felicity replied with a shake of her head, crossing her arms and turning her face towards the passenger window.

God, she was just asking for trouble, wasn't she? Alright, yes, she wanted him, that she couldn't, and wouldn't deny. But letting incredibly soft lips and lean muscled arms drive her to act like a teenager with her first crush without even bothering to examine her feelings about it? And now that she was considering how she felt, it only made her irritated. Should she just jump back into his bed, get it out of her system? No, she thought, shaking her head again. That wasn't a good idea, even if Lassie didn't kick her ass out the door once he came to his senses afterwards. Besides, she realized, that wasn't what she wanted. Which lead her right back to the initial inquiry. What did she want?

Damn if she knew.

With a sigh, she turned that part of her mind off as best she could. The sunlight shone brightly over the neatly kept lawns and matchbox houses, reminding Felicity strongly of the development a few blocks away. It was creepy, she thought with a sour expression as they parked near the curb. Stepping out, she noted that the air was still humid from the earlier rain that morning, making her curls instantly cling to her neck. She was looking up at the dully painted houses as Juliet came to stand beside her curiously.

"That white house over there, right?"

Felicity nodded quietly, starting to walk up the street, the heels of her pumps clicking on the sidewalk. She felt drawn towards the house, but then she suddenly froze. Juliet drew up next to her again, a glare slanting across her sunglasses.

"What is it, Flick?"

But Felicity didn't answer, staring out across the empty street. Without a word, she stepped off the curb and hurried across the road. The house on the other side had large, thick bushes that lined the edge of the yard, neatly clipped to weave artfully around the slats of a white fence. The leaves were narrow and velvety, brushing gently against her hand as she bent at the waist and poked her fingers between the boards to inspect the plant. As soon as her eyes fell on the dark, loamy soil, she saw a large footprint.

"Juliet?" The blonde came up behind her as she looked over her shoulder. Felicity pointed with her free hand. "See what I see?"

Juliet crouched next to her, tilting her head and leaning forward to get a closer look.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" Felicity let her eyes linger on the house behind them. "He waited here for the right moment. But how did no one notice him in broad daylight?"

"Could have been a car parked here. Between that and the bushes, the perp would have been easy to miss. I'll have another look at the crime scene photos."

Felicity nodded, then knelt on the rough concrete. Wriggling her arm through the slats, she pressed gentle fingers against the edge of the footprint, careful not to mar the outline.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, images slamming into her and knocking the breath from her lungs.

A hand was on her shoulder, steadying her.

"You alright? Flick?"

She couldn't answer, goosebumps surging across her skin as she let out a shaky breath, the exhalation hanging visibly in the air like a patch of fog.

"Son of a bitch."


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: **_**Here's the latest update, I hope you all enjoy. It's a bit on the short side, but I promise to make it up to all of you once I get through these next couple of weeks! :)**

* * *

Yellow police tape snaked across lawns on both sides of the once quiet street. The sidewalk was now rigorously patrolled by grim uniforms and snooping civilians alike, the tape becoming a wavering barrier that just barely kept a divide between the two.

Felicity blew warm breath over her fingers, tugging at the tips as she shifted from foot to foot. The sheer number of onlookers that had gathered and gawked as the patrol cars had started up the streets made her uncomfortable. Blue lights still flashed in predetermined loops, brightening as daylight dimmed. She could see parents holding up their children on their shoulders, pointing at various things and people in an effort to excite their offspring.

Frankly, it was disgusting.

Mustering her best cool glare, Felicity stared at the crowd, sweeping her eyes across the morbidly curious onlookers. Some seemed to feel the weight of her gaze, slinking off towards home, or at least somewhere more receptive to their presence. Others merely ignored the press of her eyes on them, continuing to stubbornly watch as technicians and detectives made their rounds of the crime scene.

Thank the stars above that there wasn't a body.

She didn't even want to think about the poor soul who'd had the bad luck to die in such a public place being subjected to _their_ scrutiny.

The thought only made her colder.

Since when had she crossed the line from being human to being a cop? Since when was there a difference between the two?

Felicity shook her head at the absurdity of it; Mac would be rolling on the floor about now.

With the flash of her best friend's image in her mind's eye, Felicity stepped closer to one of the patrol cars, where Buzz was leaning his colossal frame on an open door. His chin rested on his forearms as he watched other policeman work, his big brown eyes almost seeming lost. She gently touched her hand to his elbow and he jumped.

"Oh, Flick, geez, your hands are cold!"

"Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to see if I could be of any further help."

Buzz jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"I doubt it. Detective Lassiter seems to have everything under control. But I guess you could go and ask him."

Her eyes slid towards the blue-eyed cop that was furiously barking at an unlucky reporter that had just tried to slip under the tape for an exclusive shot of—well, she could only speculate. Both were gesturing emphatically, Lassie pointing behind the smaller man and the reporter trying to jab his finger into the detective's chest.

Bad move.

Shaking her head with a slight wince, Felicity raised her hand up to lightly touch Buzz's arm.

"Not for all the apples in the orchard, Buzz."

He just grinned at her in his goofy way and she patted his forearm before moving away. Juliet was still near the bushes where they had discovered the footprint, overseeing the casting of the mold. The bushes that had obscured the print had been tied back, the fence removed carefully in order to gain better access. She truly would not have wanted to be the one to explain to the property owner why his fence had to be repaired after the police left.

Felicity stood near her elbow, her head tilting in a silent question. Juliet heaved out a heavy sigh, her fingers smoothing across her temple.

"Nothing else, not even a partial. Just one damned footprint."

Felicity nodded.

"And even that was deliberate."

Juliet sighed again and folded her arms across her chest.

"Are you getting anything else?"

"No."

They stared at one another for perhaps a heartbeat, then Juliet nodded and stepped away and Felicity turned her attention back to the technicians. Felicity stood still, watching the process with mild interest. One of the techs, a guy with blonde hair and hazel eyes that couldn't have been older than twenty-three glanced up and caught her eye. He smiled at her and gestured to the dirt.

"Looks pretty fun, doesn't it?"

Felicity found his boyish smile infectious, smiling herself and nodding.

"It looks like you're playing with play-dough over there."

He grinned and she stepped closer when he waved her over. When he straightened up from his crouched position near the bushes, she was struck by how tall he was. He held out a hand to her over the low border that had been set up around the print.

"I'm Eddie."

"Felicity," she replied, taking his hand for a moment.

With the slightest gentle tug, he helped her step up over the curb. His palms were large and warm against her even through the latex gloves he wore. Self-conscious, she dropped his hand and crossed her arms over her stomach, lifting one up to brush errant curls away from her face. She felt eyes on her and turned her head to see Eddie still smiling, his gaze currently taking in her legs. She cleared her throat and he looked up, his grin clearly indicating that he was not the least bit embarrassed to be caught. Instead, he mimicked her posture, folding his arms and jerking his head towards the cast.

"Ever seen this procedure done before?"

The corner of her lips twitched.

"Does watching it on Big Foot documentaries count?"

Eddie laughed, a warm, earnest sound that made her almost tingle. Damn, someone needed to bottle that sound for lonely winter nig—

His voice blessedly caught her attention before she could finish that thought.

"It's pretty simple, really, the only hard part is actually mixing the plaster and making sure nothing disturbs it while it hardens."

Felicity lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug, her brow arching a little as she gave him a tiny smile.

"Really?" she inquired dryly.

This time he seemed to have the grace to look sheepish, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. The motion made the strands of his blonde hair fall forward charmingly across his eyes.

"Guess that was obvious, huh?"

She lifted her thumb and forefinger with a teasing smirk.

"Just a little."

They smiled at one another for a moment and Eddie started to speak. A rough hand on her arm jerking her away from the curb kept her from ever knowing what he'd intended to say.

"Flirting on duty is a little unprofessional, don't you think, Sawyer?"

The words were growled in her ear, close enough and cold enough to make a shiver want to chase up her spine. Energy was spinning around him so fast it was dizzying, ghosting across her skin like an electric charge. It made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end in the most uncomfortable way and she had to resist the need to stroke her fingers across the skin there to smooth them down again.

His fingers had slid down from her arm to grip her wrist tightly, pulling her behind him and towards his patrol car. Lips thinning, Felicity snapped out of her shock and immediately dug in her heels, literally.

"Oh, like hell you're going to pull this crap on me—" she snarled, pulling back with equal force.

The move surprised him, jerking him back as she leaned all her weight backwards.

"Idiot! Keep that up and I'll just let your ass eat concrete," he sneered.

His pale eyes were flashing dangerously, but she ignored the warning, her cheeks flushing from embarrassment and anger. Flinging her arm hard, she tried to shake his grip.

"Fine! Better than being hauled around like a damned ragdoll by an overgrown kid with a masculinity complex," she snapped back.

She saw the word he was about to say in tightening of his lips and the set of his jaw and she stopped pulling, surging forward to grip the lapels of his jacket with her free hand. Her mouth twisted into a fierce scowl, ignoring that it was hardly effective when he was clearly nearly a foot taller than her.

"Say it, I _dare _you," she hissed, heat surging through her bloodstream, something she was entirely comfortable attributing to her fury.

They stood with locked gazes in the middle of the street, oblivious to the attention they were getting as catcalls and chuckles swirled around them unheeded. Seriously, what was his problem? First he couldn't even believe that she would be attracted to him, then when someone else shows an interest in her, he reverts to being an overbearing asshole? Smooth there, Lassie, real smooth. Frankly, she was half tempted to say it out loud, but some small part of her that was mildly flattered by his reaction held her tongue in check.

Then his eyes narrowed, staring at her intently, searching her gaze and her face for something. She opened the connection between them wider, tilting her head as she watched him warily.

The emotions she had sensed all along flooded through her, but something else had been mixed into the jumble, a bitterness that was so palpable it coated her tongue. He wanted to know what she was thinking, why she let Eddie flirt with her when she had climbed into _his_ bed that morning. Why would she do that? Was she just playing with him? Did he misread what she meant earlier? Was she lying? Could he really not trust her after all?

That last one hurt more than the others.

Suddenly all the wind had been knocked out of her sails. Her shoulders slumped and her hand fell away from his jacket as her eyes lowered. They stung and for the life of her, she just couldn't fathom how the man had wormed his way so soundly into her considerations that he could make her feel this miserable in such a short amount of time.

She could feel his surprise and confusion as she backed down. His grip on her wrist loosened, might even have gentled a little.

"Dammit Sawyer," he muttered under his breath and she felt the air shift as he lifted his other hand to shove it through his hair.

She could feel that he suspected she knew what he'd been thinking, guilt and frustration gnawing at the corners of his anger until it dissipated entirely in the space of a few heartbeats.

"Dammit is right," she replied quietly, finally able to slide her wrist from his grasp.

"Sawyer, I-"

"Don't," she cut him off with a choked sound, furious with herself for being unable to control her own voice, "Just...don't."

"But-"

Her head jerked up, eyes still stinging, the fact that she couldn't hide that from him only infuriating her more.

"Go to hell, Lassiter!"

The energy around them had been less forceful, but still thick enough that she could nearly feel it crackling in every breath she took. Now it surged once again with the instability of her emotions, making her gut churn unpleasantly.

He reached out to her again, this time towards her shoulder, but she sidestepped him easily, slipping past him and towards Buzz's patrol vehicle. There wasn't a need for him to justify what he was feeling, not to her. Perhaps that's what hurt even more; that she could understand where he was coming from. The knowledge certainly did little to make her feel better. She'd get a ride back to the station where she could bury her nose in work, effectively slamming a lid on the turbulence that was roiling through her.

The chief was probably going to chew her out for getting involved again in a case she had been quite obviously dismissed, but that hardly mattered to her at the moment. She had to figure this out. More people were disappearing and every road somehow led back to her, she knew that like she knew the feel of her own skin…

Like she knew there was about a snowball's chance in hell she was going back to Lassiter's tonight.


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: **_**Hello all, here's the latest chappie. I got my master's degree, finally! Cheers, hugs, and kisses from Lassie all around! Now I finally have the time to start updating regularly again! Thank you all for your continued patience and support for this story, it amazes and thrills me.**

**Please kindly leave a review at the door. :)**

* * *

She knew he had taken Alice, just like she had known he had snatched Mason.

_Not _knowing the reason why was going to drive her insane.

Felicity shifted where she had taken a seat, folding her arms as her brows furrowed.

The bench outside the Chief's office was probably the hardest surface her derriere had ever come in contact with. Somehow, she suspected that the vicinity of it near what she was beginning to view as a small pocket of hell on earth had contributed. At least, it was going to be as soon as her foot crossed the threshold. Every time the door rattled, she winced slightly and shifted uncomfortably. It was like sitting right outside the principal's office for everyone to gawk at, knowing you were in serious trouble.

The bullpen was surprisingly subdued as she cast her eyes over the area. Some detectives huddled around desks in small groups, talking quietly amongst themselves and occasionally glancing at her. Felicity didn't need to be psychic to know what they were discussing. More than likely it was either the size of her hidden gonads or the lack of circulation in the general vicinity of her common sense; no one with half a gnat's brain would go against a direct order from Chief Vick.

And yet, here she was, mere feet away from the proverbial hangman's noose.

The fact that Juliet was in there already, facing what was likely going to be even harsher consequences gave her no comfort. She could barely make out snippets of conversation by leaning her ear back against the glass of the window the bench sat against, but she didn't try very hard. She really didn't want to know what was being said, she could imagine it plainly enough. Suspension was a very real possibility for the blonde detective and the thought made Felicity's stomach clench unpleasantly; the notion hadn't occurred to her when they left the station and that knowledge only added to the guilty sensation churning in the pit of her belly.

Late afternoon sunlight was streaming across the linoleum floor, turning the tiles a golden orange color that, under different conditions, would have been rather pretty. Currently, it merely added an ominous tone to an already unpleasant setting. She shifted again, sliding just a touch further away from the door. Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she leaned back and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up to right above her knee. She was giving the entire department an eyeful of shapely leg, but as the situation stood, it was the least of her concerns.

Felicity let out a quiet breath, pursing her lips and sending the stream of air upwards to blow an unruly ringlet out of her eyes.

Something was tugging at her attention from the back of her mind.

It was unusual for her abilities to metaphorically tap her shoulder like this. As a clairvoyant, it was normally the other way around, her psychic senses dormant unless prodded by a touch or her conscious will. For her awareness to be plucked like the string of a guitar, pulling at her mind to gain her attention…well, it only further contributed to her overall unease.

While she was somewhat grateful for a distraction, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted her attention pulled away from the current circumstance. Then again, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted her attention here either. Felicity sighed again, running her fingertips across her chin tiredly. She didn't like to contemplate what that monster wanted her to, and yet the bastard knew as well as she did that she had to. No, it wasn't the ideal time or place, but perhaps it would at least give her a potential insight to offer once her ass was in the Chief's line of fire.

The tugging continued to be gentle and insistent as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. A wave of sensation swept over her, as if hundreds of tiny, sparking lightning bugs were crawling across her body, sending goose bumps rocketing across her skin.

She could hear a child sobbing, begging as the darkness behind her eyelids parted like a curtain.

_Tiny hands reached out, small fingers grasping for hers, which she gave to them. Pulling harder than their size suggested, she was forcefully dragged into fluctuating colors and sensations, confusing and disorienting despite the now complete lack of sound. Her hands were now empty as she 'looked' around her, shifting her psychic eye, attempting to make sense of the continuously changing scene. She felt heat, cold, softness, a myriad of tactility that shot through her system repeatedly. Her body was in a continuous state of reaction, making it difficult to discern anything beyond the perceived physicality of the space, which spun in a dizzyingly nasty kaleidoscope. _

Felicity opened her eyes with a grimace, shaking her head roughly. With a trembling hand, she brushed her palm across her eyes, feeling intensely nauseated.

"Like a damned funhouse," she muttered, perturbed by her vision.

What purpose had it served? Emulating the psychological condition of Alice and Mason, perhaps? Of the killer's victims before their deaths? Her own mind? All possibilities, none which seemed more likely than the others.

Her head throbbed painfully and she reached into the new bag she'd picked up from a vendor along the boardwalk. Pulling out a beautiful red apple, she quickly bit into it, relief flooding her body as she swallowed.

Mingling with that sensation, however, was an underlying frustration. So many pieces, so many people dead or dying, and she still had no idea how any of them fit together. Why the children? What did Hannah Kelley, the teacher, have to do with any of this? Had she only been bait or did he have some other plan for her? Why kill the Thompsons? Why had that pistol been linked to him? Why was there never any physical evidence except what he wanted her to find? And why in the nine hells did she have to be the one to figure all of it out?

The selfishness of the last question nearly made her nauseous again. It shouldn't have even crossed her mind, not when lives were depending on her.

_I'm human, _she thought to herself with a bitter kind of irony; not everyone agreed with that opinion.

At that moment, the door to the Chief's office swung inward, Juliet striding out, her face considerably pale. Felicity caught sight of her hands clenching at her sides, but the detective did not turn to look at her. Chief Vick stuck her head out with a stern expression.

"Ms. Sawyer, step inside a moment, please."

It was a quieter bark than she was used to with Lassie, but she recognized it for what it was nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, Felicity stood on unsteady legs, tossing the core of her apple in a waste basket just outside the office. She could feel several pairs of eyes boring into her back as she stepped inside the cool interior, quietly pushing the door to behind her. Standing in the middle of the room, spine ramrod straight, Felicity crossed her arms in front of her, her features schooled into a carefully neutral mask.

The Chief stood behind her desk, palms braced on the surface. The similar lack of expression on her face was probably the most unsettling part of her posture.

"I don't know what the _hell _you were thinking, Ms. Sawyer, but I distinctly remember telling you that you were off this case."

"Yes ma'am, you did," Felicity replied evenly.

"And yet you followed a lead, _again_, without consulting either Mr. Spencer or myself, left the safety of this station without permission and dragged one of our finest detectives into the potential line of fire."

"Yes ma'am, I did."

Chief Vick let out a breath, her shoulders losing some of the tension that had them rigidly hunched forward.

"In light of Detective O'Hara's…persuasive defense of your actions, as well as your considerable contributions to the department in such a short amount of time, Ms. Sawyer, I am willing to give you a chance to explain your disobedience of a _direct _order, but," she snapped up a finger in warning, eyes flashing, "I'd advise you to choose your words carefully."

There was quite a good deal that she could add, but Felicity doubted any of it would help her at the moment. Her visions and her instincts were continuously warning her, trying to make her see what she needed to in order to put this case to rest and nail the child-snatching son of a bitch. She wanted to say that she had an excellent track record in the weeks she had been an active consultant in the department. She wanted to say that there was no possible way that she could stay away from this case. She wanted to point out that everyday the bastard was making this more and more personal. It had long stopped being a meaningful case and had swiftly evolved into an obsession. She wanted to defend that position by stating that her obsession had been born of necessity, of survival. She needed to be on this case, if not for her sanity, then to at least ensure a safer future, for herself and everyone involved.

Felicity inclined her head politely.

"I appreciate that, Chief, but I have nothing to add."

The Chief's brows drew together as she eased herself down into her chair, her fingers lacing together as her hands rested on the desk.

"Are you certain, Ms. Sawyer?"

Felicity's voice was quiet, but firm.

"I am, Chief. I'm also sure Detective O'Hara has given all the facts accurately, so there's no need for me to elaborate any further that I can see."

Surprise flickered across the older woman's face, followed by a nod of acceptance.

"Very well. As a consultant for this department, there is very little I can do to you in terms of disciplinary actions, except a three day suspension, the duration of which, Ms. Sawyer, you will be placed in the protective custody of Detective Lassiter."

"I understand, ma'am."

"Do you, Ms. Sawyer?" the Chief leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes becoming hard, "Because I can assure you that if you don't—"

"I do," Felicity interrupted impatiently, before adding, "Ma'am. But I would like to request that I be placed in the custody of a different officer."

A slender brow arched.

"Oh?"

An image of Lassiter flashed in her mind's eye, leaning against his kitchen counter with rolled up sleeves and crossed arms, an almost perfect replica of the morning after she had kissed him.

She shut down the memory before it could fully develop, pulling another, and more recent one to take its place. Any tentative trust that had been built between them had shattered like glass fracturing beneath a single, solid blow. The emotions she had sensed from him could not have been clearer as to just what he thought of her, or what she was capable of. To a certain degree, she could understand why he felt the way he did. Not everyone was accepting of her ability, she had learned that lesson the hard way long ago. And she knew enough about his life to even accept his personal distrust, if only a little. But if her actions this morning had proven absolutely nothing to the man about how she was feeling, then she doubted anything would.

Perhaps she wouldn't teach him how to hear a whistle after all.

She wasn't sure her sanity would last the effort. At least this way she could keep it.

_And your pride_, _since you don't seem to trust yourself around him either,_ a tiny voice whispered somewhere from the back of her thoughts, a voice that she viciously ordered to shut up.

"Yes ma'am."

The Chief let out an almost exasperated breath.

"I don't want to know. Do you have a preference for a new security detail, Ms. Sawyer?"

"No ma'am, I fully trust your judgement."

The Chief's gaze slid to stare at something over her right shoulder with a mild frown before she replied.

"Alright then, follow me."

Chief Vick rose and strode to her door, swinging it open wide and surprising two ears that had been pressed against the glass, one on top of the other.

"Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, I was just thinking of you." Her voice a hard edge, one reflected in the cool smile that curved her lips.

They looked up at her with wide eyes, glanced at one another and then returned their gazes to the Chief with slow nods.

Gus cleared his throat hurriedly, straightening.

"Certainly, Chief, ahem. What can we do for you?"

Chief Vick stepped to the side and waved Felicity closer to the doorway.

"Ms. Sawyer has requested to be placed in...alternative protective hands until the Thompson case has been resolved. I've decided that the Psych office would be the safest option," her eyes narrowed a little, "I trust that her placement in your care will only reinforce that opinion."

Shawn and Gus exchanged one of those glances that Felicity suspected was, in reality, a silent conversation. However, both men nodded without further hesitation, Shawn giving the Chief and Felicity one of his charming grins.

"Of course, Chief, Ms. Sawyer will have nothing to worry about."

Felicity stole a glance towards the bullpen, a strange twisting sensation tightening in her chest. It felt suspiciously like guilt, so she immediately attempted to squash it by returning Shawn's smile with a bright one of her own.

It didn't reach her eyes.

She turned slightly towards Chief Vick.

"Thank you, Chief."

If the other woman noticed the lack of sincerity in her voice, she didn't show it, just nodding as Felicity stepped completely out of her office and sedately walked past Shawn and Gus towards the bench where she had left some of her things. Gathering them in her new bag, she felt a presence at her side and looked up.

Gus stood with his hands at his waist.

"Are you ok?"

She wouldn't let her smile waver.

"Sure. Just a little tired."

"Yeah, you've gone a long time without a break from this case, huh?"

Felicity shrugged lightly, throwing the straps of her bag over a shoulder.

"I suppose so," she replied absently.

Suddenly Shawn was standing on her other side, a sly expression slipping over his features.

"Tell me, Flick, when's the last time you went dancing?"


	21. Chapter 21

If she thought anyone would have heard her over the thrumming bass, she would have groaned. As it was, she could only glare at the gloriously-maned man in front of her as he tugged her through the throbbing lights and gyrating crowd. Honestly, it made her stomach a little queasy, catching glimpses of moves that she wouldn't have even dreamed of, drunk or sober.

They reached the bar and Felicity hastily claimed a bar stool, feeling extremely self-conscious. As soon as they had gotten to the house Shawn shared with Juliet, Shawn had started pawing through the bag she'd bribed Gus to go and pick up from Lassie's, a bribe that was going to cost her three throw pillows and a silk comforter. When Shawn had looked up from his inspection of her clothes, he'd tsked at her, shaking his head woefully.

"You can't go dancing in any of _these _clothes, Flick. Don't you have anything you can party in?"

The stare she'd leveled at him would have been enough to have chilled wine, but he seemed impervious, tilting his head at her curiously. Noting that her intimidation needed a little work, Felicity had sighed and snatched the bag from him, calling over her shoulder that she would be out his bedroom in a few minutes while he decided just where he wanted to go. If she had learned anything about the overgrown man-child, it was that it was best to let him have his way for a time. If she was going to be spending any lengthy amount of time with him, then it was something she would need to get used to.

Just as she'd had to with Lassiter. Except…there was no mistaking him for anything other than a man.

She'd scowled so fiercely at that traitorous thought that she'd heard her jaw crack. Her mood souring by the minute, Felicity had then picked up her cell phone and made a discreet call to Juliet, who hadn't yet made it home. After a quick conversation, they'd hung up and the brunette had made her way into the master bathroom, a small make-up bag in hand. Rummaging through the various tubes of loaned cosmetics, she had crowed victoriously when her fingers curled around her objective. She'd tugged out a few more pieces, then proceeded to apply the necessary powders and paints.

The completed effect even took her aback a little. With a little smoky darkening around her lids and lashes, her eyes became luminous. Her cheeks bones were now charmingly defined, her lips touched with an elegant crimson. With her hair down and loosely curling, framing her features, the woman who had stared back at her appeared to be at once innocent and sophisticated. It had struck her as odd.

After Juliet had arrived with a black clothes bag slung over one arm and entered the room, she'd finished. Felicity had to admit, that she'd been pleased with the result and once she'd unzipped the bag, a smile had actually tugged at the corner of her lips.

The dress itself had cost her nearly every cent in her savings account, but when she'd seen it on a trip to Los Angeles last summer, she'd had to have it. That was probably because it reminded her so strongly of Ginger Roger's gorgeous gown from when she danced with Fred to _Smoke Gets in Your Eyes._ The fabric was a shimmering silk, and dyed a soft lilac, bringing out the bright grey of her eyes. It flowed over her in a straight A-line, snug enough to accentuate her figure, as if a pitcher had tipped to pour the material down her body. Thin straps curved over her shoulders to blend seamlessly with the fabric that fell away from her shoulder blades. The back was daringly low, but considering that her cleavage was relatively obscured, she supposed the boldness of the design thus became tempered.

She had stepped into a pair of borrowed heels, inspected herself in the mirror and had promptly walked out the door. Gus and Shawn's reaction when she'd stepped out of the bedroom had been worth the effort, providing a sorely needed boost to her ego. She felt classy, yet seductive.

At least, she had until they'd walked into this stupid club.

As soon as her feet had past the entrance, her shoulders had tensed, the confidence that had radiated from her demeanor vanishing like frost in the sun.

"Damn Shawn," she cursed under her breath, lifting her hand to signal the bartender, whose easy smile only served to irk her further.

He was an older guy, short and bald, with a blonde goatee and dark brown eyes.

"What can I get for ya?" he asked loudly and she leaned an elbow on the bar as Shawn leaned back on his elbows to watch the crowd.

They'd asked Juliet to go with them, but she'd pleaded out, since she had to be up earlier than normal, since she always had an extra-long shift on Saturdays. Shawn had been plainly disappointed, but she'd kissed his cheek and whispered something in his ear that had cheered him up immensely, enough that he'd grabbed both Gus and Felicity by the wrists and hauled them out the door.

"Whiskey and coke," she replied, grey eyes sliding away as he winked at her.

"Anything for a class act, doll."

Her opinion of the little man was less than favorable after that; she'd had enough of easy compliments and endearments from Shawn tonight. The entire ride to the club had been one accolade after the other, and while she had initially appreciated the attention, and also somewhat amused by his creativity, the praise had worn thin. Perhaps that was why she was so self-conscious now. Yes, she could blame him for that; it was easier than acknowledging the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at every glance in her direction.

Felicity glanced around as she waited for her drink, her gaze lingering on many of the women in the club. She certainly wasn't the prettiest woman here. Maybe the most conservatively dressed, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. Suddenly, a gentle touch was on her shoulder and she twisted around on the stool a little to tell the guy that she was less than interested when the words died in her throat.

Warm hazel irises were roaming across her features with a charming smile playing around his lips. Blonde hair hung in his eyes and he absently brushed them back, tilting his head. He wore loose fitting slacks and a creme button down dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose tanned, muscular forearms. The hand that had landed on her shoulder was large, the pads of his fingers calloused and a pleasant, tactile contrast to her own soft skin.

"E-Eddie!?" she peeped, eyes wide.

Eddie was the last person she had expected to see tonight.

"Hey, Felicity."

She was too stunned to speak, her lips parting and then closing again with a confused frown. Eddie's smile faded a little around the edges. He leaned closer to her to be heard over the music.

"I'm glad you remembered me," he said in a low voice close to her ear, making goose bumps prickle across her skin, right down to her curled toes.

The sensation snapped her out of her stupor.

"O-of course, Eddie, the play-dough guy," she replied with a nervous laugh, cupping her chin in her hand and throwing one leg over the other casually. At least, she hoped it looked casual.

That hope made her internally wince. Why the hell was she trying to flirt with this guy? Hadn't her experience with Lassiter taught her anything?

"Yeah, exactly!" Eddie returned her smile with a blinding grin of his own and any memories of Lassie were roughly shoved aside.

The transition of her attention eased when he was looking at her as if she were the only woman in the room. His eyes shamelessly drifted over her, drinking her in from the flow of her dress over her hips to the tightened clasp of it against her breasts as she sat on the stool to the exposed curve of her back. Her cheeks flushed at the undisguised appreciation in his look as he pulled his gaze back up to her face after a long, long moment.

"That's an amazing dress," he murmured, still close to her ear. "You must be beating them off with a stick."

Easy compliments had unexpectedly become easier to accept.

"Not really, but thank you," Felicity said shyly, feeling like a teen at prom.

Her face became even warmer as he moved his hand from her shoulder, his fingertips lightly sweeping against her neck, to lean a narrow hip against the bar, folding his arms across his broad chest. Self-assurance and sex appeal were rolling off him in waves, a heady, almost irresistible combination. Honestly, dressed like that and looking good enough to eat, she was surprised women hadn't already been flocking to him like moths to an electric light.

He glanced towards Shawn, who was still angling his gaze over the dance floor and nodded towards him.

"Well, if I were with you, I would be," he teased her and Felicity was certain that her poor heart couldn't take one more of those perfect smiles.

She felt something cold appear at her elbow and, once again aware of her surroundings, quickly turned around and took a deep, grateful gulp of her drink. The sweet burn steadied her nerves, a calming sensation she both appreciated and hated the alcohol for. At that moment, she became conscious of the thrumming music around her, the discordant chatter that was scattered intermittently just beneath the pulsing notes.

His breath was at her ear again, a gentle brushing of warmth that made her want to shiver.

"Would the lady like to dance?"

She started to say no. The word was on the very tip of her tongue. This was silly and unnecessary. Shawn had brought her here to unwind and maybe have a little fun, but she in no way wanted or expected a potentially romantic encounter.

_What makes you think this is romantic, Sawyer? _The question pierced the pleasant fog her mind had shrouded itself with like a horn blast. What even made it an encounter? The man had come to a club and asked a woman to dance, so how did that make it anything other than exactly what it looked like? Why did she want to make it into anything more?

Why did she hope for it to be something more?

Perhaps because, Lassiter hadn't made her feel like that. And she'd tried. _God_ knows, she'd tried. Climbing into the man's bed and letting him have his way with little to no protest…

She squashed that memory before it could crystallize in her mind's eye. Which led her to wonder if her frustration with the blue-eyed detective was causing her to see things that weren't there, to want things that wouldn't normally have crossed her mind. Eddie was irrefutably good looking, but that spark of energy that swirled every time Lassiter touched her wasn't there. Eddie wasn't even her type, if she were going to be completely honest.

_If you were totally honest, you've only met one man that would qualify_.

She viciously snapped at her inner voice to stuff itself in a broom closet, preferably outside of her head.

All the same, she admitted to herself as her finger skimmed the rim of her glass in thought, that little voice was right. She might have gotten the distance she wanted from the hard-headed bastard, but she couldn't deny that he hadn't wandered far from her thoughts. Not even an eye-catching, younger man paying attention to her had managed that.

So when she looked up at him from her drink, the rejection slipping from her lips, imagine her surprise when her answer turned out to be just the opposite.

And all because she saw hauntingly familiar baby blues glaring at her from across the room.

Lassiter stood with a lean hip propped against a dark wall, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, the pose an almost perfect mirror of Eddie's at her side. Their gazes locked for the space of a heartbeat and Felicity felt a wall of anger slam into her. Her cheeks were hot again, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol or sexual attraction.

The son of a bitch was _spying _on her.

And the urge to be plainly, deliciously spiteful was just too strong to resist.

So she fluidly rose to her feet and, staring up into Eddie's hazel eyes, slipped her hand into his boldly.

"I'd love to dance," she answered him finally, her crooked smile wicked.

Smirking at her confidently, he tugged on her hand with a gentle force and led her out into the crowd. She noticed him make a gesture towards the booth at the far end of the club and she watched the hulking DJ give him a thumbs up.

Eddie brought her to the very center of the floor, turning and pulling her body close to his. His chest brushed against hers as a new, different beat started to pound from the massive, surrounding speakers that were mounted on the walls. She couldn't quite understand the lyrics, so she assumed it must have been in another language, but it sounded like French. The tempo was quick, but steady and before she had time to rethink her hasty decision, he began to move, a hand possesively low on her back while the other grasped hers loosely.

When she had been much younger, her grandfather had indulged her and allowed her to attend dance classes. For several years, she'd learned the steps to the Charleston, the Foxtrot, Waltz, Tango, too many to count and all delightful to a young girl with few permitted outlets for creativity and expression. She'd adored her teacher and had actually excelled, her shy exterior falling away as soon as she laced the ties to her borrowed dancing shoes. But that had been years ago and she'd been forced to quit the classes before her thirteenth birthday on account of her family's less than ideal finanical situation. After that, her life had become farming and bootlegging, southern traditions that, while not the most proud professions, kept food on the table and blankets on the beds.

So to say that she was hesitant as Eddie began to lead her in the first tentative steps of a cha cha was a gross understatement. It was such a cliche, cheesy move on his part that she very nearly walked off, content to leave him and his flirtatious undertones alone on the dance floor.

But then she recalled that she had an unwelcomed audience and her desire to get under the detective's skin, by giving him a show to damn well remember, beat the living daylights out of her nervousness.

Felicity followed him, matching his movements and kicking up her heels as the beat thrummed through her body. Her hips swayed in time with the pulsing music. Seeing that she was easily keeping up, Eddie quickened his pace, people moving from around them to give them room. Her dress was a pool of lilac fluid around her legs as they moved, her body arching against his as she felt eyes on her. She knew that he was watching her in Eddie's arms and she could almost feel his wrath crawling up her spine.

Her partner spun her and she threw her head back, hair wildly flying as he moved around her before pulling her towards him once again sharply. Then he was spinning her in and out rapidly as they made a sweeping circuit as the crowd started to watch, their feet slipping between one another's. Her hand returned to his shoulder as he held her tightly against him in a lull, her body molded to his from chest to thigh.

Her eyes were hooded, lips parted in a sensuous expression as they spiraled, then stopped as the singer's voice hit a crescendo, Eddie dipping her low as her leg drew up to his hip, her foot sliding along his calf in a erotic display of the feminine power that was now coursing through her. Male eyes from all corners of the room were on her, Eddie's included as he pulled her up and turned her in his arms, the contours of her back and buttocks fitting against him like a glove. Her heart was hammering in her chest as his hands slid up her thighs to her hips, rocking them together and stepping rhythmically. Felicity lifted an arm over her shoulder to bury her fingers in his hair, bringing his face down to her neck.

She could feel his breath on her neck, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just below her ear and she closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment that it was another man that was holding her. Then she was twirled again, thrusting her arm out and he did the same, their free hands lightly gripping the other's waists as they whirled around the floor one more time. He caught her hand as she spun free of him, dragging her back to him and slipping his hand down her spine to dip her for the last time.

Felicity was gulping air as the last beat abruptly stopped, droplets of sweat gathering at her hairline.

He's good, she thought to herself with a slight smirk, more pleased with herself than her partner's dance ability. Eddie helped her straighten to smatterings of applause and she inclined her head politely to their audience, content for the moment to let Eddie guide her back to the bar. Winded, she collapsed back onto her stool, not even waiting for an inhale before she downed the watered down remnants of her drink.

Eddie was grinning at her as he signaled to the bartender for two more whiskey and cokes.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?" she asked curiously and he shrugged.

"Doesn't everyone take dancing lessons when they're kids?" he replied amicably and she let out a breathy laugh.

"I'd hope so," she admitted with a smile before adding, "Excuse me."

She stood up just as their drinks were delivered and started for the ladies room, hoping to dab away some of the sweat that was threatening to drop uncomfortably down her neck. Her make-up could probably use a little help to by now, but she wasn't worried about it. She'd impressed who she'd wanted to.

_Did you now? And who was that? _that little voice asked her snidely, obviously not finding the broom closet like she'd hoped.

Felicity ignored it, reaching out to grab the restroom door knob.

A large hand gripped her wrist tightly and jerked her to the side, into a darkened corner. Without warning her back slammed into the wall and the hand moved to brace against the side of her head. It's mate joined it on the other side, effectively trapping her once a leanly muscled body was pressing into her own. Grey eyes wide, she stared up into bright eyes.

Eyes that were bright blue and murderous.

"Having a good time, Sawyer?" a voice, tone dripping with acid, growled at her.

Not especially, but she was wise enough to keep that opinion to herself. That was the problem with spite work.

No matter how much fun you had while doing it, eventually it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**I really, really would loooove some feedback on this chapter because it was just too much fun to write. I've been picturing this chapter for months and I'm insanely pleased with how it turned out! So please, leave a review in de little box. Pretty please? :)**

**The song that Eddie and Flick danced to was Hall Om Mig Nu by Nanne Gronvall. Check it out if you get a chance. Cheers and on to the next chapter! :D**


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N**_: **Here's the next chapter, as quickly as I could give it to you! I hope you enjoy ;)**

**And please leave a review in de little box if you do!**

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here, Sawyer?"

Felicity's scowl was as deep as his, if, perhaps, only slightly less bitter. He seemed to _tower_ over her as he pressed her back into the wall, the strumming lights of the club unable to reach the dark corner he had pulled her into. It was as if they had crossed into a private world within the building, separated by a single step in just the right direction. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised. After all, it was his job to watch people where they couldn't do the same. The thought scattered in her mind like blown dandelions when he shifted against her, an arc of energy passing between them and sliding its electrified fingertip straight up her spine. The power around them tensed, coiling tight as they stared one another down.

She didn't answer his posed question, her thoughts racing to put together a barbed retort to flinch back and away so that she could escape the arms that had pinned her in place.

She could have chewed nails when nothing came to mind.

He was so close that his shirt brushed against the silk of her dress with every breath, despite her efforts to mold herself back into the wall. Felicity didn't dare touch him. She didn't want to know what he was feeling at that moment, though she could very well guess, considering the flickering emotions that churned inexorably behind his eyes. But to place her fingers against his body, she suspected, would have been akin to grasping a live wire. And his body felt so warm where it lingered near hers, seeping into her skin…

Her cheeks flooded with color, making her flinch a little, but she wouldn't look away from him, refusing to let him win this…whatever this was. An argument? A challenge?

No, she decidedly wouldn't be able to handle touching him.

She felt torn between a spite filled desire to kick him as hard as she could right in the shin; and the fierce longing to reach up on her toes and bite his lips where they hovered so very close to her own. Angrily, she thrust the ridiculous want aside, furious with herself for even considering it. The bastard had been _spying _on her, for Christ's sake, she reminded herself harshly. He had no right to act like a…like a…

Were his eyes always that intensely, beautifully blue?

She blinked. Her upper lip curled in a sneer, disgusted with herself for being distracted by a handsome face and lean muscles and—

Goddamnit!

Gritting her teeth, she glared up at him, meeting his glower as baby blue irises blazed down into her own, the muscle in his jaw noticeably taut. Energy swirled around him like smoky tendrils, nearly visible even in the dimness of the club's interior. It roiled and seethed, curling up her legs, upwards to her spine and making her want to shiver unpleasantly.

What the hell was wrong with her? It was as if all her senses were being overly stimulated, the thrumming music prickling in the delicate shells of her ears, traveling across her flesh in vibrating tingles. That seemingly tactile contact was a ghosting caress, heightening her awareness of her environment. She could smell the sweat lingering on her skin, the burning scent of alcohol and the faintest hint of cinnamon. And yet, her vision was limited to the man sullenly staring down at her.

"Answer me, Sawyer," he commanded in a rough voice, dragging her attention back to the reason why she was here.

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"I don't have to, Detective," she hissed back, baring her teeth in a display of irritation.

His hand curled into a fist where it rested next to her cheek. Without warning, it reared back and slammed into the cheap sheet rock, startling her.

"Don't push me right now, Flick," he warned her harshly, eyes flashing with wrath, "What the _hell _were you doing with that lab rat?"

Grey eyes widened with incredulity, before she pushed off the wall to jab her finger into his chest. How dare he even—

Argh!

"That's none of your damned business, Lassie!" she shot back indignantly before lowering her hand to fold her arms just beneath her breasts.

She cursed him silently for making her have to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

"It damn well is my business." His other hand shot from the wall, gripping her chin roughly in long, calloused fingers.

His skin burned where it touched hers, sidetracking her from her fury for a brief moment, her eyes snapping down when she felt the muscle in his arm flex. With effort, she pulled her eyes back up.

"No, it isn't, you possum's pecker!" her accent had thickened considerably.

His grasp on her chin tightened almost painfully.

"You made it my business, witch!" he barked, voice rising.

Frustrated and beyond livid, Felicity reached up and grabbed his arm, shoving at it with all her strength. He released her jaw, which now ached a little, his hand moving back to the wall beside her.

"I did no such thing!" she protested, attempting to wriggle under his arm and away from him.

When that didn't work, she snarled up at him and brought her heel down as hard as she could on the toe of his shoe. Howling in pain, he hopped back from her and she took off, vicious satisfaction rising in her chest. Serves that rat bastard right, she thought gleefully. Tailing her like she was some kind of criminal, or worse, an idiot who couldn't walk down the street without his protective presence right behind her. She'd made it thirty years without his interference in her life and she could damn well look after herself. If he thought differently, he could take his insufferable ass right down to the firing range and shove a—

She couldn't even finish the thought, she was so upset. She didn't care where she went. She'd sleep in a doorway somewhere, if it meant getting way from the infuriating caveman. Her steps were rapid as she tried to duck into a nearby crowd of dancers.

He recovered faster than she'd anticipated.

An arm unexpectedly snaked around her middle from behind, hauling her backwards so quickly that she let out an undignified squeak as her back slammed into another hard surface. This one, however, felt like it had buttons. She heard a loud creak behind her, over the music and, sensing a homicidal rage through her contact with the body behind her, started to struggle valiantly to escape.

Her hands flew to the arm wrapped around her waist, clawing desperately as she was pulled from the dim club into a florescent bathroom. The color drained from her face as she twisted, spotting his expression in a long mirror over a set of white sinks.

Oh God, she was dead.

She jabbed her elbow backwards, ramming into what felt like his abdomen. He grunted behind her, causing her to grin in triumph. Her squirming increased, feeling his weakening hold. Lassiter hissed out a breath near her ear and the hot sensation tickling across her skin made her freeze, a bolt of energy shooting down her spine.

It was all the opportunity he needed.

In one motion, she was once again pinned, this time wedged between him and the bathroom door, her hands landing against his chest. With one hand, he clicked the lock, the sound echoing like a funeral bell. The other wound its way into her dark hair and pulled her head back none too gently, forcing her to look into his eyes, which were twin orbs of snapping fire. Felicity drew a breath, parted her lips to curse him for all he was worth and—

She never got to say anything.

Lassiter's mouth crashed down onto hers, his tongue plunging past her parted lips. Her fury began to melt like butter as the taste of cinnamon and the heat of his lips drove the dozen retorts from her mind. He forced her back harder against her door, as if he intended to devour her. The hand that he had rested on the doorknob now slipped to her hip, his fingers wrapping around the feminine curve to tilt her hips into his.

Felicity gasped, feeling a stiff hardness digging into her belly. Even so, she could feel his desire for her in where he touched her, the feeling almost overwhelming. He was still insanely pissed with her, but his need was now driving him, though it was fueled by his anger.

Her hands flexed against the fabric of his shirt, starting to slide upwards to his shoulders. His lips molded to hers, demanding that she respond, which she did. Finally giving in to her previous urge, she nipped at his lower lip, hard, then soothed it with a quick lick, changing the dynamic of the kiss and making him groan into her mouth. With adrenaline and fire flooding her bloodstream, she boldly dipped her tongue into the velvety heat of his mouth. She hummed approvingly against his lips as his hand drifted from her hair to cup her cheek, his thumb gliding against her jaw to cover the fluttering pulse point of her throat.

Air drove them to part and Felicity let her head fall back against the wooden door, Lassiter's lips slipping down her jaw to press hotly against the skin of her neck.

"Jackass," she breathed out, unwilling to let her anger slip from her so easily, despite the instinctive arching of her back when he bit her skin roughly.

He was muttering against her neck as his fingers moved further down her body, sliding sensuously along the curve of her torso until he was gripping her hips with both hands.

"Witch…dancing like that to tease me…" he mumbled between kisses, the deep rumble of his voice making her shudder, the sound lancing straight to her center.

He didn't stop, his hips starting to rock into hers, making her buttocks knock rhythmically against the door. His mouth found hers again, long, drugging kisses punctuated by low words.

"I ought to slap that gorgeous ass of yours for driving me nuts like that," he growled, his fingers slipping around to squeeze the aforementioned curve possessively.

Felicity didn't reply at first, curling her arms around his neck and lifting one slender leg to rub against his calf, the position pressing her center firmly against his arousal. He hissed against her lips. She nearly moaned at the raw want that rocketed through him and into her through their contact.

"Stop talking, Lassie," she whispered, pulling his mouth back to hers and sipping at his bottom lip.

Thankfully, he did, focusing his attention on coaxing the most wanton sounds from her throat. She didn't care that they were in a club bathroom where anyone could suddenly jiggle the door. She no longer cared that only a moment ago she was intent on escaping. Nothing mattered except the rightness of his body pushing against hers, how she could feel his desperation to take her, and take her _now_.

He broke from her lips to press them against her collarbone, small, nipping kisses trailing across her shoulder. He reached his hand down to caress her exposed knee at his hip, then slid it up, to the back of her thigh while the other moved further, until it slipped beneath the flowing hem of her dress. Felicity's own hands were busily unbuttoning his shirt, driven to feel his naked flesh under her fingertips. He didn't stop her, lifting her dress higher and higher up until it was pooling around her waist.

With a quick, jerking motion, he shifted against her, bringing both legs to curl around his narrow hips. Felicity hooked her ankles, breathing out another gasp when he bucked against her, making arcs of electricity dance across her skin, in her blood. Her breasts felt heavy in the confines of her dress and she arched her back again, rubbing the pebbling buds against his chest. His hands moved even higher, reaching the cheeks of her backside, then pulling back from ravaging her mouth to stare down at her with eyes dark with arousal.

"Are you not wearing…"

"Find out," she retorted breathlessly, finally wrestling the last button of his shirt to smooth her palms over the lean muscles of his chest, dragging her nails lightly over his skin. She could feel his heart hammering under her hand, as hard and fast as her own.

His eyes fluttered shut with another groan when she angled her head to run the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear. Actually, she was wearing a thong, the dress too snug to wear anything else, but it was much more fun to make him wonder. And evidently, he enjoyed the prospect of her naked beneath the silky material, his erection straining insistently in his pants, throbbing against her and making her moan. She tugged at the material tucked into his trousers, wanting to feel him, skin to skin. He seemed to have the same idea, shifting so that more of her weight was wedged against the door, one hand slipping up, ghosting over one hardened peak towards the straps of her dress.

She managed to pull part of his shirt out as his tongue did wicked, wicked things against her neck, leaving goose flesh in his wake. He started to slid one strap down her arm, following its path with tongue-flicked presses of his mouth against her skin.

Dear gods above, she thought she might go up in smoke if he kept this up—

A sharp knock on the door behind her brought her crashing back to reality, the sound rippling through her more effectively than a bucket of ice.

"Dammit," he growled against her swollen lips.

Felicity let out a shaky breath, starting when the knocking came again. Lassiter moaned, leaning his forehead against hers, his hands clenching her thighs and his hips bucked helplessly.

"For God's sake, Felicity, be still."

She froze immediately, hardly daring to breathe as they waited tensely for the knocking to either resume or to go away all together. When several heartbeats passed and the only sound was the muted thumping of the club's music from the other side of the door, Lassiter eased her legs from around his hips. Felicity's heels clicked against the tile floor, her legs shaking. He didn't make any further movements to part from her, however, her hands resting on his shoulders and their breaths mingling. Slowly, he opened his eyes to look down into her own.

"I cannot believe I almost took you against a door in a women's bathroom," he muttered, causing a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

"I can't believe I would have let you," she replied softly, making him groan quietly.

"Don't-don't talk like that, Sawyer," he said in a strained voice, "I don't think I can handle it right now."

The words made another bolt of heat streak through her and she shivered. His hands tightened in response where they had settled on her hips. With a deep, steadying breath, he let his hands fall away from her and took a step back.

She ran her hands over her dress, attempting to both smooth out any wrinkles and keep her eyes from his gaping shirt. Clearing her throat and ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks, she moved to the sink while he straightened his own cloths. The atmosphere between them was tense, filling her with a sense of awkwardness. Her gaze flickered to him, relieved and disappointed to see that he had re-buttoned his shirt. Felicity ran her fingers through her hair, futilely trying to tame the now unruly curls back into some semblance of order.

She bit her lip when he came up behind her, his hands lifting to run over her upper arms.

"Now what?" she asked, the question really aimed more at herself than at him.

He didn't answer and she could feel that he didn't have one at that moment. He was confused, uncertain, and still somewhat aroused.

He was also still very angry with her.

Their eyes met in the mirror and held for a long moment, neither moving. Felicity found herself holding her breath, searching the baby blue irises over her shoulder in the glass. The silence stretched out between them as they regarded one another.

And suddenly, Felicity felt very tired. Her body continued to hum with desire, but it was no longer all-consuming. They needed to talk, she knew that. They needed to figure out where they were, what they were…but she just didn't have the energy to deal with it anymore right then. The entire day had been one giant amusement ride, her emotions undulating and stretching to nearly the breaking point.

So she did the only thing she could manage at that moment.

She turned in his arms, reached up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his. It was soft and languid and he responded immediately. She pulled away before the heat could sweep them up and away again, her hands pressing lightly against his chest. She could feel surprise, and a weariness to match her own.

"I'll see you at work, Lassie," she murmured when they parted, moving past him.

Without another word, she strode to the door, leaving him to watch her silently walk into the pulsating crowd and disappear.


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: **_**I had to make this one a little on the short side guys, but I think you'll still get a kick out of it. As always, please read, enjoy, and leave a review in de little box, I am soooo curious what y'all are going to think about this little development. :)**

**P.S. – HUGE thank you to the massive amount of favorites, follows, and reviews that came in with the last two chapters! Seriously, you guys rock!**

* * *

The next morning, Felicity stumbled out of the makeshift bed she had made on the Psych office couch and shuffled into the tiny bathroom. There was only a shower stall in the very corner, but that was plenty. Shawn had driven her here after stopping by his house with Juliet to pick up her things. He'd offered numerous times to let her use the guest bedroom, but she'd declined. To be perfectly honest, the last thing she wanted to wake up to was the sweetly doting couple making breakfast together in the kitchen.

The thought turned her stomach.

It wasn't that she had anything against them or that she didn't want them to be happy, it was just that—hell, she could hardly explain it to herself, much less justify it.

_It reminds you of Lassie_, that damnable little voice whispered from the back of her mind as she tugged off her pajamas.

_Lassiter leaning against the fridge in a dark suit and white shirt, the first couple of buttons still undone._

_Felicity let her head fall back against the fridge, staring into dark blue eyes as she tried to catch her breath. Eyes that reflected arousal...and astonishment._

God, she was never going to be able to look at a refrigerator without blushing ever again.

Or doors, or bathrooms, or sinks, or—

Goddamnit!

Scowling, she ruthlessly shut her mind off and yanked back the thick shower curtain, stepping into the stall. The icicles drumming into her back was her hint that Shawn had forgotten to turn on the hot water like she had asked last night.

Last night…

Felicity groaned, folding her arms against the cold tile across from her and hung her head, letting the frigid water stream down her body. She was starting to shiver, goose bumps erupting across her skin.

She would _not _think about it this morning, she told herself sternly. It would just mean letting her thoughts run in circles all day, circles she was becoming altogether too familiar with.

Scrubbing shampoo through her dark hair and roughly scouring her skin with a borrowed bar of soap, she jumped out of the shower, gratefully wrapping herself in a warm towel. Taking another to run through her damp ringlets, she fished out her toothbrush from the bag she had placed in the bathroom the previous night. When her fingers also curled around a slender tube, she snatched her hand out in surprise.

It was cinnamon toothpaste.

_You smell like cinnamon…_

Her cheeks immediately flushed, which only made her temper flare. She started to fling the damned thing into the toilet, her arm already cocked back as a frustrated sound rose in her throat.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something scrawled in black ink on the white plastic of the tube. Setting her toothbrush back down on the sink, she cradled the small tube in both hands, twisting it until she could read the crooked handwriting.

"Flick," she read in a strangled voice, finding speaking to be difficult with the dry lump that had formed in her throat.

Gently, she swiped her thumb over the letters, her eyes misting a little. God, when had she become so damned sentimental that a labeled tube of toothpaste made her teary?

_When you realized he cared enough to make room for you in his life_, that stupid little voice replied.

Quietly, she brushed her teeth, letting the warm, spicy taste linger on her tongue before she rinsed. Felicity placed the tube on the sink next to her toothbrush then braced her hands on the cold porcelain. Shaking away the stinging in her eyes, she let out a shuddering breath pass her lips.

Damn the man.

Her fingers curled around the smooth edge of the sink. Every time she looked at him, she was looking at a different man. One minute he was all old west cowboy with withering looks and a scathing tongue. Others, he was watching her with gentle eyes and a warm hand on her skin. He was hellfire and passion and heat, burning away everything in her heart and soul until there was nothing left for her but him. He was suspicious and arrogant, driving her over the brink of sanity and back again. He was a soft touch in her hair and a low whisper in her ear.

He was everything.

The realization hit her like a Mac truck, making her choke as her head shot up with wide, frightened eyes staring back at her from the mirror.

Oh. Dear. _God_.

No way, no fucking way.

Without warning her fist slammed into the mirror, throwing every ounce of strength she possessed at that traitorous reflection, feeling it crack and shatter against her hand. Blood trickled down from numerous gashes in her flesh, pain lancing up her arm and making her gasp. Tears of a different kind glittered in her eyes and she furiously blinked them back, cradling her injured hand against her chest. She could see sharp shards embedded in her knuckles and the backs of her fingers, some buried pretty deep.

She was going to need stitches.

And then she saw the laceration on her wrist where a shard had jutted out and sliced across the vein.

"Fucking idiot," she swore at herself, her body trembling as bright red rivulets started to creep down her arm.

Growling, she forced herself to extend her fingers, biting back a scream as white hot agony shot through her at the flexing of newly exposed muscles. A lot of damned stitches. Felicity threw on the cold water, hoping to wash away some of the blood as she wrestled with the tie of her towel with her uninjured hand. The water pressure stung like a bitch, but she ignored it as best she could, grateful that the frigid temperature was starting to make her fingers stiffen and lose sensation.

She hissed in a breath when she pulled her hand out from the water and struggled into a loose fitting t-shirt, not even bothering with a bra. How the hell was she going to get it on anyway? Forcing her fingers to work, she screeched when the back of her hand dragged against her hip when she pulled up a pair of denim shorts.

A glance at the fragmented mirror let her know that her face was ghost pale, her lips nearly as white as the sink. Great, she thought a little dizzily as the world started to tilt on her, making her stumble against the wall, blood loss _and _going into shock.

It just wasn't going to be her fucking day.

Leaning against the wall more fully for support, Felicity fumbled with the door, taking almost two full minutes just trying to focus her eyes long enough to turn the knob. Mindful of the glass that was scattered all over the bathroom floor, she pressed herself against the doorjamb and eased her bare feet up, stepping over the threshold and onto soft carpet.

At that moment, she heard the front door open. Wobbling, she tried to walk towards the sound, but her shaking legs weren't supporting her anymore. She sank down onto the carpet with a groan, catching a flash of crimson from the corner of her eye. Well, no wonder, she mused somewhat detachedly, she'd forgotten to put pressure on the wound. Swaying back and forth, Felicity blinked sluggishly, her limbs feeling disturbingly light and airy. Her head was swimming, energy pulsing around her in tandem to her slowing heartbeat. She lifted her bloody hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle that was bubbling past her lips.

She was going to bleed out right here in the Psych office and Lassie would never know, would he?

As her vision started to darken around the edges, she suddenly felt warm hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

"Flick?! Flick! C'mon, sweetheart, you gotta stay with me!"

That was Shawn's voice, she realized dimly, as if the thought was pushing through thick gauze. Tilting her head back, she looked up at him, eyes glazed.

"Hey, Shaaaawn," she slurred with a sloppy smile.

He gingerly cupped her face with both hands with a panicked look in his eyes as he knelt on the floor in front of her.

"Hey yourself, princess," he replied in a relatively steady voice, giving her a smile that seemed more like a grimace. Gingerly, he held up her still bleeding hand. "What happened, huh?"

Felicity gazed at her hand with a mixture of wonder and mild concern. Her brows pulled together in a deep frown.

"Mirror," she struggled to say, but it only came out as a, "Murrerrerrrr."

Shawn was frowning now too and she idly concluded that it looked odd on him. He glanced at something behind her shoulder and she twisted around and out of Shawn's loose grip, curious. While Shawn was wrapping her hand in a dish towel he'd magicked from somewhere, Gus was inspecting the damage in the bathroom. He came out looking a little shaken and definitely worried.

"Felicity, did you do that in there?" he asked, pointing towards the bathroom.

Feeling like her voice just wouldn't cooperate with her, she just nodded a few times. Shawn and Gus exchanged a quick glance and it irritated her. Why do they do that? It makes her feel excluded, dammit. That thought was swiftly followed by another; Lassie didn't make her feel that way.

Her hands clenched into fists and Shawn grabbed her face again in concern. He was slipping in and out of focus, making her blink as fast as she could to see him clearly. He was speaking, but it was so hard to focus…

"Flick? C'mon, princess, we gotta get you to the hospital."

Standing up, he grabbed her under each arm and hauled her to her feet, careful of her injured hand. Throwing an arm over his shoulder, he supported her as they slowly hobbled towards the front door. He was asking her something, but she hardly heard him, her head lolling to lean on his shoulder.

He repeated the question and she frowned as her eyelids fluttered.

"Huh?" she asked groggily, feeling her consciousness ebbing away.

"Why'd you hit the mirror, Flick? What happened?"

She didn't answer, clenching her eyes shut as they stepped into bright California sunshine. The blueberry was only a couple steps away, in the little parking lot along the boardwalk, which was scalding under the bare soles of her feet. Gus hurried ahead of them and opened the passenger side door. Moaning as her hand bumped lightly against the window, she let herself be lowered into the front seat.

"Shawn, there's going to be blood all over my car!"

"Then you can get her to pay for a cleaning when she gets out, dude, just drive!"

The door shut and she was encased in the already hot, stale air of the Echo. Two slams registered in her foggy mind as she slumped further into the seat, letting her eyes remain closed. The warmth was making her drowsier, sleep beckoning to her with open arms. It would be so nice to go back to sleep for a little while. She could forget…

"Felicity? Stay awake, alright? Just stay awake until we get to the E.R."

She mumbled a response, scowling at the nagging voice that insisted she refuse the sweet, siren that was still calling to her. With an effort, she sat straighter in the seat, opening her eyes blearily before letting them drift closed again.

"Felicity? Talk to us, please! Tell us what happened!"

The urgency in Gus's voice, at least she thought it was Gus's voice, allowed her to break the surface of consciousness for a moment longer. Words passed her numbed lips, just before everything spun away into comforting blackness.

"Mad…'cause…love him."


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N: **_**Here's the next chapter, as promised! I hope you enjoy and please let me know your thoughts! :)**

* * *

As soon as Felicity's eyelids fluttered, she groaned and tightly shut them again. Florescent lights were mercilessly stabbing white daggers into her vision. Even now, with her eyes closed, she could see the vicious little blades of orange and yellow blinding her already sightless eyes. Her hand throbbed hideously and she shifted where she sat, removing the wounded appendage from where it painfully scrapped against something that felt cold and thin.

"Flick?"

Biting her lower lip for courage, she slowly allowed one eye to reopen, blinking rapidly against the watering and excruciating brightness. The first thing she could focus on was a pair of large hazel irises staring down at her. A pair of puppy brown ones entered her line of sight as well, both watching her in concern. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a crooked smile.

"Hey, guys," she rasped, her throat feeling dry and swollen.

Bit by bit, she eased herself further upright, casting her squinting gaze around to take in her surroundings.

It was a small examining room, painted in that sickening greenish, yellowish, blueish, pinkish nightmare that for some unfathomable reason hospitals believed to be soothing. Clearly they needed to stay in their own establishment, Felicity thought dryly, noting the lack of medical instruments and equipment, not even an IV. A long white counter stretched along one wall, with a sink and some basic first aid supplies. She glanced down at her hand, now covered in thick swaths of gauze. Flexing experimentally, she winced when even the restricted movement sent hot bolts of pain streaking through the damaged nerves and down her arm. The digits barely moved and she could feel tiny pulls of agony up, across and down each finger. She felt nothing in her palm or wrist.

"Shit," she cursed softly, her restless movements on the examining table making the two men step back a little to give her some space.

She glanced down at her tank top and noticed the dark smears that stole across her abdomen. Apparently, she'd been less than successful putting on her clothes without getting blood on them.

She then looked over at Shawn, lifting her hand and waving it a little with a tight smile.

"So, what'd the doctor say?"

Shawn leaned back against the wall next to the open door, tucking his hands in his pockets. A grin curved his lips, but she noticed that it barely reached his eyes. The observation came with a sharp pang of guilt; she'd spooked them, pretty badly too. Felicity ducked her head to hide her scowl behind the dark curtain of her hair, shame and remorse twining in her belly like writhing serpents. She bit her lip, hard.

"Well, once we explained the intricacies involved in performing a divination that may very well prevent the deaths of hun—"

"Shawn," she said quietly, but firmly.

He sighed dramatically when she pinned him with a serious expression, running a nervous hand through his dark hair. His shoulders hunched suddenly with tension.

"Forty-three stitches, Flick," he bit out, the sharpness in his tone surprising her. Gus glanced over at him and he seemed to relax a little.

"Forty-three?" she repeated, raising her hand to inspect it more closely. Sure enough, tiny blue sutures could barely be seen peeking beneath the edge of the bandages.

"Yeah," he replied, his lips pressing together in a tight line before continuing, "Twenty-two of them internal."

So there had been damage to her muscles, she'd suspected as much before she'd lost consciousness. She refused to think of it as fainting. People didn't faint anymore, she thought to herself stubbornly when the little voice at the back of her head started to speak up. Felicity turned her hand back and forth slowly, tried rotating her wrist. The bare movement made her hiss in a breath with another curse. She wouldn't be able to write like this and that left her feeling more than a little bereft. How was she supposed to work now?

_Maybe you should have thought of that before you lost it?_ That voice asked snidely.

_Shut it_, she snarled back.

"Well, that complicates things," she murmured out loud, her eyes tracing the swollen contours of her hand and trying to ignore Shawn's unamused look.

Seeing as how she'd just shot down his attempt at levity, she supposed she deserved that glare, as well as for other things. Her hand continued to throb painfully. So she twisted around a little towards Gus.

"No drugs?" she asked, the fingers of her uninjured hand starting to tap against her bare knee.

"Some Fentaynl to make sure you stayed unconscious for the procedure, and the doctor prescribed Demerol to help with any pain you're gonna be feeling for the next couple of weeks, but other than that, no."

She nodded. The sedative would explain why her mouth felt like it had been swabbed in rotten cotton. Felicity let her eyes slide between Gus and Shawn.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her features softening at their tense expressions, "I'm sorry I worried you guys."

Gus smiled at her almost instantly, a gentle hand reaching out to take her uninjured one. Shawn, however, stayed where he was, although he seemed less upset than he had been a minute ago.

"Flick, what happened?" he asked, repeated really, since she remembered how many times he had asked that question at the office.

It wasn't a question she wanted to answer, because she knew she would have to lie. There was no way she could tell them that the reason why she'd slammed her fist into a mirror was because she realized that she was in lo—

She viciously cut herself off before she could even complete that thought. There was also no way that could be true. She was attracted, undeniably so, but to be more than…she struggled to find an adequate word. To be more than… fond, wasn't feasible, or realistic. Oil and water. Complete opposites in thinking, beliefs, values; the list could go on forever. He frustrated her to no end, drove her up walls with his obstinacy and unceasing suspicions, his rejection of her ability and his absolute boorishness. And despite those things, damn his soul, she cared about him. He never forgot how she liked her coffee. He brought her apples and kept her from losing her sanity every night by watching Westerns and old military movies. He kept her safe, opened his home to her as a sanctuary when her own had become a nightmare. He held her when the darkness threatened to drown her.

He infuriated her.

He made her burn.

Felicity bit back a groan, letting her head fall back against the cold leather headrest of the examining table. She really, really, had no time to deal with this right now.

Last night had supposed to have been a chance to relax, to let her mind recover so that she could work on the Thompson case. That hadn't worked to plan, she remembered bitterly. In that, she almost resented Lassiter. The time she should have had to herself, to soothe her mind and let herself be, for one night, just a pretty woman out to enjoy herself. And then he'd barged in, like he always did, like he always would, she suspected.

_But you were just a pretty woman last night, _that voice reasoned. _A pretty woman that Lassie couldn't keep his hands off of_.

The memory nearly stained her cheeks.

_That isn't the point_, she argued. _And I'm not having this conversation with myself. I've got work to do_.

Abruptly, Felicity hopped down from the table and stretched a little.

"Nothing happened, Shawn, I promise," she answered briskly, running the fingers of her left hand through her hair in hopes of taming it.

He started to say something, but her piercing glance made it perfectly clear that she did not care to discuss it. Instead, he breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes, and Felicity immediately felt guilty. Crossing the room in a couple of steps, she put her uninjured hand on his arm, waiting for him to look at her.

"Shawn," she said quietly when he didn't. "C'mon, Shawn, I'm sorry, alright? Look, let me make it up to you. I owe you two my life. I'd have bled out in that bathroom if you hadn't shown up when you did."

She could feel rejection stinging in her veins and she grimaced, knowing that she had caused him to feel the same. He was trying to be a friend to her, to help her. She could sense his confusion that she wouldn't talk to them, concern over what could have made her shut them out when they'd been getting along. He was a little angry, too, and Felicity found that she couldn't blame him for that. She was being both unappreciative and difficult, when all the two of them had done was keep her alive. Knowing that, her words just sounded hollow, but she had no others to offer. They were true, but she understood that they weren't enough.

God, she felt like shit right about now.

"Shawn," she tried again, her voice low, "I hit the mirror out of panic, ok? I was trying to sort some…personal, things out in my head and it got to me. I reacted without thinking. That's the honest truth."

Finally, he looked up at her, searching her eyes pointedly. He seemed to find what he was looking for there, because the tension in his body eased. He felt reassured and that was enough for her. She smiled at him and he returned it.

"Alright, Flick, alright. I believe you. Buy me a pineapple pizza and your forgiveness is ensured."

That made her chuckle and she started to pull away from him. Then another flash came through the light touch, one that made her hand on his arm tighten. Her grey eyes went wide before narrowing to slits. Felicity could quite literally feel the thought forming in him as she heard him swallowed hard.

_Oh shit_.

She jerked back from him with a hiss.

"Shawn! You called him last night, didn't you?"

For the second time, Shawn would not meet her eyes and she made a low, frustrated sound deep in her throat.

"Why would you do that? You knew that if I wasn't staying at his place anymore that something had to have gone down!"

He was rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I…kinda figured that it was something like that, but I thought…I thought he deserved to know, Flick. He deserved to know where you were going to be from now on." Shawn lifted his head, all the air leaving his lungs in one whoosh of words. "The Chief would have told him anyway, it's kinda procedure, so I didn't see the harm. I mean, yeah, it was a little surprising to see him at the club last night when we walked in, but he didn't say anything, so—"

"You _moron_!" she seethed, the muscles in her injured hand working painfully to clench, but unable to do so. The action sent sharp fissures skittering across her nerve endings, pain she was almost able to ignore. Almost, because it edged her tone, making it gruff. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew she was going to have to do something about her fraying temper. It wasn't like her to lash out like this, unless it was at Lassiter. Then it was entirely justified. But at the guy who'd only been trying to be helpful in his clumsy, inadequate way?

The thought made her tone soften, a little. Reaching up, she poked him, gently, in the forehead. The anger had left her voice, leaving only exasperation in its wake.

"How does Jules put up with you? I needed to get away from him, Shawn, I—"

"Would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling psychics."

Felicity froze. Her hands hung suspended at her chest, mid-gesture. She wouldn't look. She would not look at the open doorway and to the owner of that barking voice, coated in sarcasm like broken glass. She couldn't look. If she looked, she was done. She knew that without even having to consider it. Instead, she focused on Shawn, whose eyes flickered between the woman in front of him and their visitor still standing in the hallway.

"Cute, Lassie, when did you get a sense of humor?" he replied.

Felicity took a deep, shuddering breath through her nose, her heart galloping in her chest. An urge rose up, to stamp her foot and shout to the heavens that it wasn't fair to have been roped into being a part of this man's life until the energy locking his fate and hers dissipated. It wasn't fair to require of her to be by his side, to help him, not when her heart had begun to—

Felicity spun on her heel and walked to the other side of the room, where a small window gazed out to a black parking lot, ignoring the voices behind her. Carefully, she folded her arms across her stomach. Energy crackled at her back like whips, reminding her of his presence. It curled around her feet, ghosting up her bare legs like a heated caress. She suppressed a need to shiver at the sensation, certain that he would notice if she did.

His energy...

The realization hit her nearly as hard as the one in the Psych office bathroom, making her knees a little weak. Roughly, she jerked a hand through her loose curls.

The memory of their first encounter slammed into her like a freight train.

_She felt like her eyes were about to pop right out of her skull, the energy coming off him in waves almost beyond belief. Her legs felt like jello and she lifted a hand to her forehead in a pitiful attempt to stave off the massive headache that was threatening to beat her senseless._

It had been his energy. She chewed on her bottom lip, pulling at the skin with her teeth. She hadn't been wrong, she knew that. The sheer forcefulness alone was a sure sign that their meeting had been anything but chance. But that forcefulness had also been of his own making.

And it had called to her.

Felicity let her eyes close, trying to ignore the warm pulse in her gut that was telling her she was right. It couldn't be right. For the sake of her sanity, it couldn't be right. She clung to her anger from the night before, when their eyes had met across that crowded club, clung to it like a lifeline out of the emotions churning in her head.

Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes, once again tuning into the conversation taking place on the other side of the examining room.

"How bad?" she heard Lassiter ask, her chest tightening at the growl in his voice that she could feel reverberating up her spine. Damn him.

"It was pretty bad," Gus answered. She could see him in her mind's eye shooting her a glance as his arms crossed. "But she's fine now, I think. Just upset."

No one said anything else for several heartbeats. She heard two pairs of shoes quietly moving away, followed by the sound of the door swinging shut with a soft click. There was the sound of cloth rustling against a smooth surface.

And then there was silence again. It crept up her spine, much like his voice had done, sluggish and heavy. It weighed in the air and on her shoulders, tensing and coiling the muscles there until they hunched forward. The energy around her felt uneasy, poised on an edge that she didn't care to contemplate. If she turned around, if she looked at the man that stood leaning back against the door…that edge would be far behind her.

Felicity was distracted enough that the sudden warmth behind her made her jump. She could smell spice, leather, and gun oil, the scents filling her nose until she could barely breathe. Then his breath ghosted across the back of her neck.

"Sawyer."

She flinched, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She wouldn't turn around, dammit. She wouldn't. The truth was in her eyes and if he saw—

"Felicity."

Her name fell so softly, so quietly, that it made her heart ache, even though it felt as though it would beat right through her ribcage.

He would believe her eyes. Even when he doubted how she knew, he never doubted her honesty. Belief and trust, however, were two very different things. And he wouldn't trust her, neither with the truth or the feeling behind it. He wouldn't trust her enough to try. He hadn't trusted when she'd kissed him that morning in the kitchen with her hair spilling around them or when the cold had driven her into his bed and his dreams. He didn't trust her abilities. Hell, he didn't even trust her to take care of herself or others.

To be fair, she didn't trust him either. She didn't trust his lack of faith in her or her abilities. She didn't trust how he sent her emotions, and her common sense, reeling. She didn't trust that he would continue to protect her once he knew the truth. She didn't trust that he gave a damn about her beyond their chemistry and their bothersome partnership.

And she most certainly didn't trust herself.

Perhaps, she thought wryly, on that they could agree.

Suddenly, her contemplative view of the parking lot was interrupted by a pair of bright blue eyes, eyes that she immediately ducked from, turning her head to the side to look anywhere else. That seemed fine by him, because he didn't move.

"Let me see it, Sawyer," he commanded gruffly.

She held it in place, her lips thinning into a stubborn line.

"No."

She could feel the heat of his glare on her cheek.

"You can let me see it now, or I can pin you to that table and then see it."

Her eyes widened a fraction, snapping her head around to stare up at him, her mouth opening to argue. The motion had made her hands involuntarily loosen where they had clamped around her torso and he was able to catch her wrist, his large hand wrapping around it in a gentle, but firm grip. Afraid that snatching it away again, would only cause more injury, she let him.

_Right, 'cause you have an aversion to causing yourself pain_.

She didn't get to make a response, because the pad of his thumb brushed against the pulse point in her wrist, just below the line of her stitches, scattering her thoughts like windblown dandelions. His skin was rough where it touched hers, calloused, but warm. Carefully, he traced the edges of the sutures, making her skin unbearably sensitive. She really wanted to pull away now, but her hand was caught in his, his fingers gently flexing against the bandage.

She wasn't going anywhere until he wanted to let her go.

"That's gonna leave a scar," he muttered.

Felicity let her tongue flick across her dry lips.

"Yeah, I know," she answered softly, not trusting her voice right then.

He looked down at her and she couldn't help but to look back, her breath catching at the strange expression in his eyes. She couldn't read it, the bandages around her hand keeping her from properly sensing his emotions. Perhaps that was a blessing, because she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Working with him from now on was going to be difficult enough.

"What'd you do, Sawyer?"

She schooled her features as best she could.

"What does it look like I did, Detective?" she asked dryly, the sardonic inflection of his title plain in her tone.

He made a low sound in his throat, irritation, maybe?

"It looks like you did something stupid, that's what."

Felicity drew her hand from his and he let her this time.

"On that, we can agree," she replied, knowing that he couldn't even guess at how imprudent she'd really become the last few weeks.

She jumped again at his next question.

"Why?"

She should have seen that one coming, she thought with an internal grimace. She didn't have to answer him. Still, she met his gaze as best she could.

"That's none of your business."

Felicity resisted the urge to squirm like a child caught in a lie, uncomfortable beneath the hard, piercing quality his eyes had taken. This must be what he looks like in an interrogation, she mused idly, and was suddenly quite sorry for any of his suspects.

"You're starting to say that quite a bit lately, Sawyer," he growled back, taking half a step towards her.

Felicity didn't move, watching him warily and not responding. She jumped when his hand suddenly skimmed over her hair, tucking a stray curl away from her face and behind her ear.

"Talk to me, Flick," he murmured, his hand falling back to his side, "What's going on?"

He was changing tact, she realized from the brief contact. Her heart was beginning to pound again, her senses on overdrive from his nearness. His body heat was seeping into her skin and she could taste spice on her tongue. He leaned closer to her, their noses bumping gently and his warm breath caressing her lips.

"You smell like cinnamon."

The soft words were her downfall. The memory of the toothpaste this morning mingled with how his low voice made a hot pool in her abdomen. She closed the distance between them, her heart full and aching from its secret. If she couldn't say it, she would show him.

A shriek pierced her ears just before her lips met his.

She could hear his cellphone buzzing in his jacket pocket, along with the colorful curse that he breathed out in a hiss. Jerking back and away from her, he dug out the phone and barked into it. Thankfully he walked to the other side of the room where he wouldn't see that she was trembling. God that had been too close. The confession had been right on the tip of her tongue, begging her to express what she was so adamant to deny. Raising her uninjured hand to her mouth, she pressed her fingertips against her lips and closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

That couldn't happen. It just couldn't.

So she was grateful when she heard him tersely end the conversation a moment later, relieved that she was steady as she turned.

"Station?" she asked in a cool voice, tilting her head to the right.

He nodded.

"Yeah, we gotta go. You discharged?"

"Yes. I'll get Gus or Shawn to run by the pharmacy for me," she replied, walking past him and into the hall.

"Good. Let's roll."

She let him take the lead, following him down the corridor, out the sliding glass doors and into the late morning sunlight. His car was parked at the curb and she slid into the warm passenger seat, feeling better than she had since yesterday.

She could lose herself in work, and hopefully, let her mind run itself ragged on something other than the pointless direction her heart tugged her in.


End file.
